THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


PEN 

TO 

SILVERSHEET 


BY 

MELVIN  M.  RIDDLE 


A  comprehensive  digest  of  the  many  arts  and  crafts  in- 
volved in  the  fascinating  industry — motion  picture  produc- 
tion— and  a  visionary  journey  through  a  large  model  studio, 
describing  in  detail  the  various  operations  in  the  making  of  a 
picture,'from  the  writing  of  the  scenario  to  the  final  presenta- 
tion of  the  photoplay  on  the  theatre  screen. 


Published  by 

HARVEY  WHITE  PUBLISHING  CO. 
THOMAS  B.  WHITE.  Pre». 


Copyright,  1922, 
by  Melvin  M.  Riddle 


College 
Library 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword   5 

I.     The  Story  and  Scenario 7 

II.     Construction  of  Settings 18 

III.  Scenic  Art  and  Decoration 25 

IV.  The  Plaster  Shop 31 

V.     Studio  Research 34 

VI.     Costuming  the  Players 44 

VII.     Filmland's  Fashion  Shops 52 

VIII.     Properties 58 

IX.     Property  Making  and  Effects 64 

X.     Casting  the  Characters 72 

XI.     Screen   Make-up 78 

XII.     Hunting  Locations 83 

XIII.  The  Art  of  Direction 92 

XIV.  Screen  Portrayal 96 

XV.     Cinematography    101 

XVI.     Lightings  and  Effects 110 

XVII.     The  Film  Laboratory 119 

XVIII.     Titling  and  Editing 124 

XIX.     Studio  Exploitation 130 

XX.     Distribution    • 134 

XXI.  Theatre  Presentation. .                                          ,  137 


1447035 


FOREWORD 

OW,  we're  going  to  make  a  motion  picture ! 

We  shall  take  an  imaginary  trip  around  the  model 
studio  and  with  our  mind's  eye,  shall  follow  the  work 
of  the  world's  fifth  largest,  and  the  most  fascinating 
art-industry,  from  its  very  inception  to  its  final  com- 
pletion— from    the    choice    and    preparation    of    the 
scenario  to  the  final  exhibition  of  the  finished  photoplay  on  the 
screen  of  the  cinema  palace.    We  shall  make  the  journey  from 
Pen  to  Silversheet. 

This  journey  is  a  fascinating  one.  It  will  explore  the 
hitherto  undescribed  mysteries  of  the  work  of  film  production 
and  lay  bare  the  inner  mechanisms  of  this  wonderful  and  intri- 
cate art,  which  comprises  within  itself,  many  arts  and  many 
crafts,  peculiarly  identified  therewith  and  many  of  which  have 
come  into  existence  only  since  the  establishment  of  this  new 
industry. 

"How  do  they  do  it?"  is  the  question  on  the  lips  of  the 
average  spectator  as  he  watches  the  shadow  story  unfold 
before  him  on  the  screen.  He  is  curious  to  know  details, 
facts,  and  processes  by  which  certain  results  are  secured.  But 
he  little  realizes,  perhaps,  the  extensiveness  of  the  ramifica- 
tions of  the  work  which  has  resulted  in  the  finished  product 
which  is  flashed  before  his  vision.  Perhaps  he  thinks  in  terms 
of  camera,  actors,  director  and  backgrounds.  But  in  so  think- 
ing, his  knowledge  only  covers  about  one-fifth  of  the  various 
and  varied  factors  which  contribute  their  necessary  efforts  to 
the  one  central,  ultimate  aim.  He  has  not  yet  been  given  an 
inside  look  at  the  work  and  the  mechanism  of  these  various 
factors. 

In  the  journey  from  Pen  to  Silversheet,  all  will  be  told, 
presented  and  explained.  When  the  germ  idea  for  a  motion 
picture  starts  to  undergo  development  towards  its  final  com- 
pleted state,  it  is  as  if  a  magic  button  were  pressed  which 


6  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

instantly  sets  in  motion  these  many  contributing  factors — these 
cogs  in  the  large,  organized  machine.  Each  is  at  once  active, 
and  if  one  is  rendered  inactive,  the  entire  machinery  is  thrown 
out  of  motion.  Complete  harmony  and  smooth-running  unison 
are  necessary.  Each  department  bears  a  close  relation  to 
every  other  individual  department  or  cog  in  the  machine,  and 
each  is  vitally  important  to  its  perfect  operation.  In  the  pres- 
ent advanced  stage  of  the  development  of  this  great  art- 
industry,  each  of  these  contributing  factors  has  been  perfected 
to  a  fine  state.  Progress  is  a  natural  law,  which  this,  as  all 
other  great  institutions,  has  been  governed  by. 

In  exploring  this  vast  and  intricate  cinema  production 
machine,  let  us  begin  with  the  story  and  scenario.  The  story 
is  the  germ  nucleus  of  the  motion  picture.  With  the  selection 
and  preparation  of  the  story,  all  departments  are  set  in 
motion.  Before  the  selection  and  preparation  of  the  story, 
nothing  can  be  started.  The  story  and  scenario  are  the  prime, 
the  first  determining  factors  in  the  production  of  a  motion 
picture — and  the  ones  upon  which  all  others  depend  and  to 
which  they  react.  They  constitute  the  fly-wheel  of  our  organ- 
ized machine. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  STORY  AND  SCENARIO 


DISCUSSION  of  the  story  and   scenario  involves 
several  issues.    These  are : 

FIRST:     The  story — what   it   is   and   the   circum- 
stances governing  its  selection. 

SECOND:     The  sources  from  which  original  stories 
for  photoplay  use  are  obtained. 

THIRD:  The  manner  in  which  an  author  conceives  and 
develops  an  original  story  idea  for  the  screen. 

FOURTH  :  The  amateur  scenario  writer  problem — the 
principal  shortcomings  of  the  average  amateur  who  submits 
his  scenario,  how  they  should  be  overcome,  what  is  wanted  by 
scenario  departments  and  some  helpful  discussion  as  to  what 
are  the  qualifications  of  a  successful  writer  and,  providing  he 
possesses  those  qualifications,  pointers  on  how  he  should  pre- 
pare his  ideas  for  submission  to  scenario  departments. 

FIFTH  :  The  development  of  the  scenario  from  the 
original  by  trained  studio  writers,  what  the  scenario  consists 
of  and  its  importance  to  further  production  work. 

The  very  first  step  in  the  production  of  a  motion  picture 
is  the  selection  of  the  story.  A  motion  picture,  in  the  early 
days,  was  merely  a  film  record  of  some  kind  of  motion.  Hence 
the  name,  "motion  pictures."  But,  in  its  present  state  of 
development,  the  motion  picture  is  a  drama  or  comedy  or 
tragedy  told  by  action  and  expression — ideas  conveyed  by 
means  of  expression,  from  the  players  to  the  audience. 

The  story,  therefore,  is  paramount — the  foundation  upon 
which  the  picture  is  builded — the  central  idea  of  which  the 
completed  production  is  only  an  objectification. 

The   selection   of   this   story   is   therefore   of   the   utmost 


8  PEN  To  SILVERSHEET 

importance.  If  the  story  be  weak  the  picture  will  be  accord- 
ingly more  or  less  weak.  The  story  must  be  selected  with 
extreme  care,  keeping  in  mind  its  adaptability  to  the  screen 
and  the  pulse  of  the  public  taste — a  very  changeable  thing — 
at  the  particular  time  intended  for  the  production  of  the 
picture. 

Regarding  the  latter  point — there  was  a  time,  several  years 
ago  when  the  costume  picture,  generally  some  historical  story 
or  one  in  which  numerous  gaily-costumed  characters  were 
employed,  held  full  sway  on  the  screen  and  was  very  popular 
with  the  public.  Then  followed  a  period  when  the  public  tired 
of  costume  pictures  and  there  were  a  few  failures.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  period  of  war  pictures,  but  the  public  taste  also  tired 
of  that  and  they  were  soon  under  the  producer's  ban.  And 
now,  it  seems,  another  period  of  costume  pictures  is  dawning. 
This  illustrates  the  changeableness  of  the  public  taste. 

In  the  production  of  film  stories,  there  are  two  systems 
now  in  vogue  which  govern  the  selection  of  the  story  to  be 
produced.  These  are  the  star  system  and  the  all-star  or  non- 
star  system.  If  a  story  is  to  be  chosen  for  a  star,  the  story 
must  of  necessity  be  such  that  there  is  one  character  who 
stands  out  more  than  all  others — who  predominates  and  holds 
the  major  portion  of  the  interest.  This  character  must  be 
fitted  in  type  and  personality  to  the  star  for  whom  the  story 
is  intended. 

In  case  the  story  is  being  selected  for  an  all-star  picture, 
it  must  be  a  story  strong  in  theme  and  situation,  in  which  all 
the  characters  are  important.  There  may  be  one  who  is 
slightly  more  important  than  the  others,  but  not  so  much  more 
so  as  in  the  case  of  the  star  picture.  In  a  picture  of  this  kind, 
the  story  is  the  main  issue  and  it  is  not  presented  with  a  view 
to  the  exploitation  of  any  one  character  over  all  the  others. 

Let  us  take  up  the  second  point  outlined  in  the  beginning 
of  this  chapter — the  sources  from  which  original  stories  for 
photoplay  use  are  obtained. 

In  their  selection  of  the  story,  several  fields  are  open  to 
producers :  Originals,  written  by  outside  contributors  and  sent 
to  the  studio  for  consideration;  published  novels,  produced 
plays,  published  short  fiction  in  current  periodicals  and  originals 


THE  STORY  AND  SCENARIO  9 

written  by  successful  authors,  many  of  whom  are  now  devoting 
a  goodly  portion  of  their  time  to  such  work.  In  the  past  few 
years  the  tendency  on  the  part  of  producers  to  use  material 
from  published  plays,  novels  and  short  stories,  has  been  very 
strong,  but  many  now  entertain  the  conviction  that  the  original 
is  coming  into  its  own.  History  always  repeats  itself  and  all 
things  run  in  cycles  as  if  by  a  law  of  Nature.  The  same  rule 
seems  to  apply  to  the  case  in  point.  Several  years  ago  nothing 
was  produced  but  originals.  Then  came  the  tendency  to  pro- 
duce legitimate  plays,  novels  and  short  stories — published  or 
enacted  material.  This  is  still  being  largely  done,  but  published 
material  does  not  entirely  hold  the  floor  as  once  it  did.  A  great 
many  originals  are  now  being  produced. 

As  already  noted,  the  originals  come  from  two  sources — 
outside  contributors,  the  majority  of  whom  are  amateurs  who 
simply  "try  their  hand"  at  writing  a  scenario  without  realizing 
the  import  of  what  they  have  undertaken,  and  from  profes- 
sional writers  who  have  proven  by  their  past  works  either  as 
playwrights,  novelists  or  short  magazine  story  writers,  their 
ability  to  conceive  a  good  story  plot.  The  percentage  of  stories 
accepted  from  outside  contributors  is  very  small — perhaps  a 
dozen  out  of  every  ten  or  fifteen  thousand.  These  contribu- 
tors— the  amateur  scenario  writers — will  be  fully  discussed 
when  the  fourth  point  in  the  beginning  of  this  chapter  is 
reached. 

The  professional  writers  referred  to  are  known  in  the 
various  producing  organizations  as  "eminent  authors"  or  by 
other  similar  titles.  The  number  of  authors,  playwrights,  etc., 
who  are  now  interested  in  original  screen  work,  include  many 
of  the  most  noted,  such  as  Rex  Beach,  Harold  Bell  Wright, 
Thomas  Dixon,  Sir  Gilbert  Parker,  Rupert  Hughes,  Robert 
Chambers,  Elinor  Glyn,  W.  Somerset  Maughm,  Edward 
Knoblock,  Samuel  Merwin,  Elmer  Harris,  Sir  James  M. 
Barrie,  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart,  Avery  Hopwood,  Robert 
Hitchens,  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim,  Joseph  Conrad  and  numer- 
ous others. 

A  few  years  ago  established  authors  and  playwrights,  such 
as  those  mentioned  above,  were  reluctant  to  write  for  the 
screen,  or  even  to  allow  their  works  to  be  picturized.  This 


10  PEN   TO 

was  due,  perhaps,  to  their  lack  of  faith  in  the  screen  and  the 
future  of  the  motion  picture  industry  as  an  artistic  institu- 
tion, and  also  because  of  the  fact  that  stories  were  then  often 
"murdered"  or  mutilated  beyond  recognition  by  irresponsible 
producers,  the  type  of  which  could  not  continue  in  business 
today  because  of  the  demands  of  a  discriminating  public.  The 
status  of  the  motion  picture  industry  today,  however,  and  the 
dignity  of  the  profession  is  such  that  authors  have  been  won 
over  and  have  seriously  considered  the  startling  fact  that 
whereas  perhaps  five  hundred  thousand  people  read  a  good 
seller,  on  the  other  hand,  millions  of  people  will  see  their  story 
on  the  screen.  These  authors  are,  many  of  them,  working 
right  in  the  studios  where  they  can  acquire  the  peculiar  tech- 
nique of  writing  for  the  screen  and  become  accustomed  to  the 
requirements  of  this  particular  branch  of  literature. 

Taking  up  the  third  subdivision  stated  in  the  beginning  of 
the  chapter,  let  us  attempt  to  present  some  inkling  of  the 
manner  in  which  an  author  conceives  and  develops  an  original 
story  idea  for  the  screen.  This,  based  on  interviews  with 
authors  who  have  described  just  how  they  secured  and  built 
up  their  screen  plots,  will  doubtless  be  helpful  to  many  of  my 
readers  who  aspire  to  become  photoplaywrights. 

Very  few  writers  have  ever  tried  to  discuss  such  a  question. 
Many  times  they  do  not  remember  exactly  how  the  original 
idea  was  suggested  to  them  and  often  the  development  of  that 
idea  into  a  story  was  a  matter  of  months.  Often  a  story  grows 
so  gradually  in  the  mind  of  an  author  that  when  he  finally 
awakens  to  the  fact  that  he  has  a  story,  he  possibly  cannot 
trace  the  various  stages  in  its  development. 

A  prominent  playwright  and  screen  writer,  however, 
once  narrated  just  how  she  came  to  write  a  certain  photoplay 
and  the  processes  of  mental  development  which  it  underwent 
before  it  finally  became  a  reality.  This  particular  author  was 
one  who  considers  the  theme  the  most  important  point  in  a 
story.  Others  write  more  from  a  plot  or  character  standpoint. 
Her  theme,  in  this  particular  instance,  was  the  paternal  love 
of  an  old  stage-doorkeeper  of  the  "has-been"  actor  type,  many 
of  which  are  to  be  found  in  large  cities,  and  his  hungry  desire 
to  lavish  this  love  upon  someone,  someone  who  would  in  turn 


THE  STORY  AND  SCENARIO  11 

listen  to  his  stories  of  near-greatness  in  the  past  and  would 
seriously  believe  what  he  might  have  been.  She  was  inspired 
with  this  theme  by  a  short  chat  with  just  such  an  old  character. 

"There  was  something  about  him  so  tremendously 
pathetic,"  she  declared,  "so  human  and  so  lonely.  His  hopes 
of  greatness,  now  a  memory,  his  greatest  comfort  lay  in  tell- 
ing to  those  who  gathered  about  him  between  cues,  stories  of 
himself,  his  past,  how  near  he  came  to  greatness  and  what 
might  have  been  if  this,  that,  or  the  other  hadn't  happened — 
if  Fate  had  only  smiled  upon  him  instead  of  frowning. 

"My  policy  in  writing  has  ahvays  been  to  build  up  situations 
from  character  instead  of  getting  the  situation  and  then  casting 
about  for  a  character  to  fit  it.  In  this  way,  stories  are  more 
life-like  and  natural  as  we  get  interesting  people  and  then  let 
them  live  interesting  lives  as  they  would  naturally  live  them. 

"This  character  of  the  old  stage-doorkeeper,  I  had  long 
cherished  in  my  mind  and  I  wanted  to  work  out  a  story  which 
would  give  him  the  love  and  admiration  that  he  had  always 
hungered  for  but  had  never  received.  A  producer  made  the 
remark  to  me :  'I  wish  you  would  write  a  story  for  me  with  a 
protective  theme — a  story  that  shows  the  love  of  a  man  for  a 
child.'  It  occurred  to  me  then  and  there  that  my  old  stage- 
doorkeeper  was  the  very  subject  for  such  a  theme.  Imme- 
diately I  fell  to  musing.  Who  could  the  child  be  which  the 
old  man  could  love  and  what  would  be  the  circumstances  which 
surrounded  her?  As  I  meditated,  the  answer  came.  She 
should  be  a  little  chorus  girl  who  should  come  to  the  city  to 
achieve  fame  and  success  and  who  would  be  sympathetic  with 
him,  would  believe  his  stories  of  how  he  almost  became  the 
world's  greatest  actor — who  would  be  just  as  lonely  and  just 
as  hungry  for  love  as  he  was.  My  story  was  now  well  started 
in  my  mind  and  I  mused  and  just  visualized  those  characters, 
added  a  few  more  and  let  them  act  in  my  mind  as  they  most 
naturally  would,  under  such  circumstances,  in  real  life.  Then 
came  another  love — the  false  love  of  the  rich  'angel'  of  the 
show.  The  story  grew  and  grew — just  naturally  developed 
in  my  mind  and  soon  I  had  reached  the  point  where  the  old 
man,  to  save  the  girl  from  the  primrose  path,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  this  other  love,  was  willing  to  give  his  own  life.  This 


12  PEN  TO  SlLVERSHEET 

willingness,  which  he  demonstrated,  awakened  the  girl  to  the 
priceless  paternal  love  which  he  held  for  her  and  brought  her 
out  of  the  maze  which  was  enveloping  her  better  senses,  also 
awakening  the  other  man  to  a  noble  appreciation  of  true 
womanhood  and  converting  his  false  love  into  a  noble,  true 
love  of  the  girl,  which  she  later  accepts,  as  his  wife." 

The  above  narration  by  the  photoplay wright  of  just  how 
this  story — a  story  subsequently  produced  as  a  motion  pic- 
ture— developed  in  her  mind  is  a  striking  example  of  how 
authors  create  and  develop  original  ideas. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  fourth  subdivision  above  noted — 
the  amateur  scenario  writer  problem.  Let  us  digress  a  moment 
in  our  journey  from  Pen  to  Silversheet  and  consider  this  inter- 
esting problem.  On  this  subject  a  volume  could  be  written,  but 
I  shall  attempt  to  discuss  it  briefly  and  pointedly. 

Hearken  to  this  startling  fact :  During  a  four-year  period, 
a  scenario  reader — the  person  whose  business  it  is  to  read  and 
pass  on  all  submitted  manuscripts — at  one  of  the  largest  pro- 
ducing studios,  read  and  recorded  exactly  eleven  thousand, 
five  hundred  and  sixty-nine  manuscripts,  emanating  from 
aspiring  writers  all  over  the  globe.  Out  of  this  voluminous 
mass  of  material,  the  reader  found  not  more  than  half  a  score 
of  manuscripts  which  would  conform  to  the  needs  and  require- 
ments of  the  company  which  she  represented.  Only  half  a 
score  out  of  over  eleven  thousand ! 

Here  is  a  possible  answer  to  such  a  situation.  Scenario 
writing  is  an  art — a  difficult,  intricate  study.  Even  the  emi- 
nent authors,  already  successful  as  novelists  and  playwrights, 
have  found  it  necessary  upon  turning  their  efforts  to  screen 
writing,  to  spend  months  studying  screen  and  photoplay  tech- 
nique before  they  can  successfully  write  directly  for  the  screen. 
It  seems  that  the  public  in  general  have  a  very  vague  idea  of- 
the  amount  of  study  and  practice  involved  before  one  can 
become  proficient  as  a  writer  of  successful  film  scenarios.  By 
way  of  illustration,  one  gentleman  wrote  a  letter  to  the  reader 
above  referred  to,  asking  her  to  please  send  him  "the  full  par- 
ticulars of  photoplay  writing."  He  went  on  to  say,  further, 
that  he  had  never  written,  but  was  desirous  of  doing  so  and 
would  like  to  get  an  idea  of  how  best  to  go  about  it.  Others 


THE  STORY  AND  SCENARIO  13 

have  been  granted  interviews  by  that  same  studio  reader,  and 
have  asked  for  positions  on  the  scenario  staff.  Upon  being 
asked  their  qualifications,  not  a  few  of  them  replied,  in  sub- 
stance: "No;  I  have  never  written,  but  my  friends  tell  me  I 
should."  In  what  light  would  the  electrical  profession  regard 
a  man  who  should  write  to  some  big  electrical  concern  and 
say:  "I  should  like  the  full  particulars  of  the  electrical  pro- 
fession. I  know  nothing  of  electricity,  but  am  desirous  of 
becoming  an  electrician,  and  should  like  to  get  an  idea  of  how 
best  to  go  about  it"?  Or,  what  would  the  fashion  world  say 
of  the  woman  who  should  go  to  the  establishment  of  an  exclu- 
sive modiste  and  ask  for  a  position  of  designer,  saying,  "I 
know  nothing  about  designing  and  have  never  created  a  new 
fashion,  but  my  friends  tell  me  I  should  be  a  designer"  ? 

It  will  be  well  for  all  who  contemplate  success  as  scenario 
writers,  to  take  note  of  these  comparisons  and  realize  that  to 
become  proficient  as  scenario  writers  is  just  as  difficult  and 
involves  just  as  much  study  and  concentration  as  to  learn 
the  electrical  profession  or  the  modiste's  art,  or  the  legal 
vocation. 

One  prominent  scenario  writer,  who  won  success  via  the 
short  story  route,  advises  all  prospective  scenarists  to  first  team 
to  write  short  magazine  stories  and  succeed  in  getting  one  or 
more  published.  He  declares  that  he  wrote  two  or  three  screen 
plots,  couldn't  sell  them,  re-wrote  them  as  magazine  stories, 
sold  them  to  The  Saturday  Evening  Post  and  then  turned 
around  and  disposed  of  them  for  scenario  material  to  the 
same  studio  which  had  formerly  rejected  them.  He  subse- 
quently was  given  a  position  on  the  scenario  staff  at  that 
studio. 

In  any  event,  the  prospective  writer  must  realize  that 
scenario  writing  requires  study  and  work  and  does  not  consist 
merely  in  sitting  down  for  an  hour  or  so,  dashing  off  an  idea 
and  sending  it  in  to  a  studio  with  the  expectation  of  realizing 
a  sale. 

Another  prominent  scenario  writer,  with  years  of  successful 
experience  in  one  of  the  largest  studios,  sums  up  the  matter 
this  way:  "Writers  are  composed  of  three  classes — 'writers,' 
'would-be  writers'  and  'can-be  writers.'  'Writers'  are  the  class 


14  PEN  To  SILVERSHEET 

who  have  taken  writing  seriously,  made  it  their  life  work,  and 
generally,  in  modern  days,  make  a  living  out  of  it. 

"The  second  class,  or  'would-be  writers,'  "  says  she,  "may 
be  found  in  any  walk  of  life,  but  is  generally  composed  of  the 
feminine  sex.  Every  night  when  John  comes  home,  she  will 
have  'plots'  and  'ideas'  prepared  and  will  talk  these  to  the  dear 
man  until  the  meat  is  cold  and  the  gravy  like  a  frozen  lake  in 
the  pan.  When  she  darns  John's  socks,  she  visualizes  herself 
as  the  'poor  working-girl,'  and  eventually  drops  the  work  to 
write  down  these  ambitious  plots.  She  does  not  realize  that 
all  this  is  only  a  reflex  of  what  she  has  seen  upon  some  past 
screen — a  glamour,  a  fascination,  a  mesmeric  obsession  which 
has  come  over  her  and  is  driving  her,  body  and  soul,  into  a 
state  of  mental  confusion  and  false  ambition. 

"  'But,  how  do  you  know  I  can't  write?'  she  asks.  'Why 
didn't  she  write  before  she  heard  of  the  screen?'  might  be  a 
question  to  ask  her.  'I  didn't  think  of  it  then.'  'And  yet,  there 
were  books,  the  stage — '  you  remind  her.  'Oh,  but  they're  too 
complex,  too  difficult  to  write  for!  The  screen  is  awfully 
easy !  Just  a  lot  of  exciting  action,  a  love-story,  a  happy  end- 
ing and  there  you  are.'  That,  in  a  nutshell,  is  the  philosophy 
of  the  'would-be.' 

"Now  for  the  'can-be'  species.  He  is  kin  to  the  'writer'  in 
instinct.  He  knows  that  because  a  certain  tragedy  happened 
in  his  home-town  and  which  in  that  small  community  caused 
a  great  deal  of  excitement,  that  this  situation  is  not  necessarily 
dramatic.  He  does  not  sit  down  and  write  out  the  tragedy 
just  as  it  took  place  and  send  it  to  the  nearest  picture  editor. 
He  realizes  that  while  the  tragedy  may  be  sensational,  it  is 
not  necessarily  dramatic;  so  he  sets  to  work  painstakingly  to 
evolve  this  situation  and  construct  it  along  dramatic  lines. 
For,  in  the  green  forest,  a  builder  may  visualize  a  mansion, 
but,  surely,  to  a  casual  onlooker,  a  tree  is  a  tree,  although  with 
careful  manipulation  it  may  be  turned  into  a  house.  'Can-be' 
knows  that  writing  for  the  screen  is  like  stringing  graduated 
pearls.  They  must  be  arranged  according  to  their  sizes  and 
one  misplaced  pearl  will  mar  the  symmetrical  beauty  of  the 
whole.  He  knows,  too,  that  the  string,  which  holds  the  pearls 
may  be  likened  to  the  theme,  the  vital,  inner  force  which  holds 


THE  STORY  AND  SCENARIO  15 

the  whole  creation  together.  If  it  is  a  frail  string  it  will  break 
and  the  pearls  will  scatter." 

This  writer  presents  the  case  very  clearly.  Her  "would-be" 
represents  the  great  majority  of  amateur  writers,  with  whom 
scenario  writing  is  a  temporary  obsession.  Her  symbol,  "Can- 
be"  represents  the  few  who  reach  the  goal  of  success — with 
whom  scenario  writing  is  a  prize  ambition,  an  ambition  to  be 
strived  for. 

There  seems  a  marked  tendency  among  amateur  writers — 
especially  those  of  age  and  worldly  experience,  to  write  about 
events  in  their  own  lives.  These  people  overlook  the  fact  that 
what  is  most  interesting  to  them  because  it  has  some  special 
significance  in  their  own  past  lives  is  perhaps  least  interesting 
to  the  general  public,  and  in  such  stories  they  generally  leave 
out  entirely  the  most  interesting  parts — the  parts  common  to 
everybody,  the  parts  relating  to  children,  education,  romance, 
marriage.  Audiences  are  not  attracted  by  a  picture  story  unless 
they  unconsciously  place  themselves  in  the  roles  of  the  char- 
acters who  enact  the  story,  feeling  their  impulses  and  emotions. 
Therefore,  those  impulses  and  emotions  must  be  familiar  to 
them. 

One  of  the  most  important  of  all  requirements  in  writing  a 
scenario,  is  to  choose  that  type  of  story  that  can  be  told  by 
what  the  characters  in  it  do  and  not  by  what  they  say.  It  is 
the  case  where  actions  must  speak  louder  than  words. 
Therein  lies  the  vast  difference  between  playwriting  and  sce- 
nario writing.  The  story  must  also  be  highly  interesting;  it 
must  be  unusual  without  being  impossible,  it  must  be  "differ- 
ent" without  being  improbable. 

Many  submitted  scenarios  depend  too  much  on  their  villain 
characters.  We  should  realize  that  there  are  good  things  and 
noble  deeds  that  can  be  expressed  via  the  medium  of  the  screen 
as  well  as  the  evil  and  depraved  side  of  existence.  Unless  a 
writer  can  extract  the  villain  from  his  story  and  still  have  some 
semblance  of  a  story  left,  his  story  is  weak. 

One  thing  most  sadly  needed  now  in  scenario  plots  is  what 
is  known  as  a  new  "opposition"  in  the  love  theme.  By  this 
is  meant  the  condition  or  circumstance  which  tends  to  keep  the 
lovers  apart  and  thus  increase  the  romantic  interest.  The  old 


16  PEN   TO 

time-worn  oppositions,  such  as  the  disapproval  of  stern  par- 
ents, etc.,  are  of  little  avail  today.  Nowadays,  boys  and  girls 
marry  in  the  face  of  parental  opposition  without  taking  it 
seriously  as  was  the  case  a  few  decades  ago.  The  ambitious 
writer  should  try  and  discover  original  and  genuine  and  at  the 
same  time  logical  reasons  or  sets  of  circumstances  which  can 
convincingly  interrupt  the  progress  of  lovers  to  the  altar. 

Having  deviated  at  some  length  on  the  subject  of  amateur 
scenario  writing,  I  shall  now  take  up  the  fifth  and  final  propo- 
sition outlined  at  the  beginning  of  the  chapter — the  develop- 
ment of  the  scenario  from  the  original,  what  the  scenario 
consists  of  and  its  importance  to  further  production  work. 

After  the  selection  or  writing  of  the  original  photoplay, 
comes  its  preparation  for  the  director.  Therein  is  involved  the 
art  of  scenario  or  continuity  writing.  A  motion  picture  must 
present  ideas  by  action  and  expression,  with  the  use  of  as  few 
printed  subtitles  as  possible.  Therefore,  the  description  or 
dialogue  of  the  printed  story  or  the  dialogue  of  the  play  must 
be  conveyed  by  other  means.  The  scenic  and  character  descrip- 
tion of  the  novel  is  all  absorbed  in  the  settings,  backgrounds 
actually  filmed,  lightings  and  effects,  wardrobe  and  choice  of 
types  to  play  the  roles.  The  scenario,  therefore,  must  present 
the  actual  meat  of  the  story,  the  vital  ideas,  situations  and  the 
theme  of  the  story,  through  the  actions  and  expressions  of  the 
players,  who  grasp  the  idea  and  then  register  it  for  the  camera. 
The  scenario  "hits  the  high  spots"  as  it  were,  showing  only 
such  scenes  as  are  necessary  and  implying  all  intervening 
action  by  the  starting  and  finishing  action  of  the  scenes  in 
question  or  by  the  use  of  fade-outs,  fade-ins  or  subtitles. 

For  instance,  if  it  is  made  clear  that  a  man  is  going  out  of 
a  house  and  downtown  for  a  certain  purpose,  if  his  journey 
is  only  incidental,  it  is  not  necessary  to  show  the  man  leaving 
the  house,  walking  along  the  street,  arriving  at  his  destination 
downtown,  securing  what  he  went  after,  getting  in  his  machine 
or  catching  his  car  back  and  arriving  back  at  the  house.  It  is 
only  necessary  to  show  his  departure  from  the  house,  explain- 
ing in  some  way  his  motive,  and  after  a  few  intervening  cut- 
backs, to  show  his  return  entrance. 

In  this  scenario,  all  the  factions  of  the  story  must  be  kep.t 


THE  STORY  AND  SCENARIO  17 

before  the  attention  of  the  audience  by  the  use  of  what  is 
called  the  "cut-back."  For  instance,  after  showing  one  sequence 
with  one  faction,  the  scene  changes  to  another  faction  and 
advances  it  a  bit  further  in  the  story. 

The  scenario  is  the  backbone  of  the  picture.  It  is  a  visual- 
ized record  of  what  is  to  happen  in  each  scene,  set  down  in 
words  and  explained.  A  scenario  for  a  feature  production 
may  vary  in  length  all  the  way  from  two  hundred  and  fifty  to 
four  or  five  hundred  scenes.  In  this  scenario,  the  motives, 
purposes  and  acts  of  the  characters,  explained  in  the  novel  by 
dialogue  or  narrative,  and  in  the  play  by  dialogue  or  soliloquy, 
must  be  expressed,  so  far  as  possible,  by  action  and  expression. 
Thus,  the  importance  of  the  scenario,  which  is  the  connecting 
link  between  the  original  and  the  picture,  may  be  realized. 

After  the  scenario  is  completed  by  one  of  the  scenario 
writers,  or  in  some  cases,  by  the  author  of  the  original,  in  case 
he  is  numbered  among  those  at  the  studio,  many  copies  of  this 
script  are  made  and  one  of  these  copies  given  to  the  director, 
one  to  the  star  or  principals,  the  various  other  studio  depart- 
ments and  the  property  man.  The  director  or  assistant  makes 
out  what  is  known  as  a  "scene  plot,"  in  which  the  scenes  are 
grouped  by  number,  each  group  being  a  list  of  the  scenes  in 
any  one  setting  or  at  any  one  location.  The  scenario  is  studied 
by  every  department  and  it  is  upon  this  that  the  department 
bases  the  work  it  is  to  do  in  connection  with  the  picture,  and 
obtains  definite  ideas  as  to  what  is  required  of  it. 

In  all  the  larger  motion  picture  plants,  there  is  a  regular 
department  devoted  to  the  story  and  scenario,  and  this  is 
generally  known  as  the  "scenario  department."  The  personnel 
of  this  department,  in  a  large  studio,  includes  several  scenario 
writers,  perhaps  two  or  three  editors  or  supervising  directors, 
the  scenario  reader,  mentioned  above,  several  title  writers  and 
a  host  of  clerical  assistants,  stenographers,  film  cutters,  etc. 


CHAPTER  II 
CONSTRUCTION  OF  SETTINGS 

HE  settings  for  a  motion  picture  are  the  stage  upon 
which  it  is  enacted. 

Beautiful  or  appropriate  sets  add  materially  to  the 
attractiveness  of  a  picture,  because  they  are  the  back- 
grounds of  the  story.    They  give  the  picture  a  rich- 
ness of  tone  and  pictorial  quality  and  prepare  the 
mind  of  the  spectator  for  the  action  that  transpires  therein. 

There  are  two  general  classes  of  photoplay  settings — 
interiors  and  exteriors.  The  interiors  are  those  constructed  on 
the  studio  stages  and  are  just  what  the  word  implies.  The 
exteriors,  such  as  streets  and  fronts  of  buildings,  homes,  etc., 
are  sometimes  built  at  the  studio  and  sometimes  erected  at 
some  spot  which  is  made  suitable  by  reason  of  natural  geo- 
graphical conditions.  For  other  exteriors,  buildings,  homes, 
gardens,  public  streets,  natural  scenery  and  other  permanent 
locales  are  used.  These  are  searched  out  and  permission,  if 
necessary,  obtained  to  photograph  them  by  the  location  direc- 
tor, whose  work  will  be  discussed  in  detail  in  a  later  chapter. 
A  few  years  ago,  in  the  earlier  days  of  motion  pictures, 
the  sets  used  in  photoplays  were  principally  exteriors  and  when 
it  was  necessary  to  construct  interiors,  they  were  very  crude 
and  cheap,  being  made  of  canvas  or  other  flimsy  material  and 
depending  largely  upon  the  scene  painter's  art  for  any  sem- 
blance of  the  real.  But  today,  it  is  necessary  to  construct  sets 
which  are  made  of  the  same  materials  as  are  used  in  genuine 
architectural  construction  and  are  so  substantially  built  that 
they  add,  instead  of  detract,  from  the  artistic  value  of  the  film 
production.  This  phase  of  production  has  had  to  advance  to 


CONSTRUCTION  OF  SETTINGS  19 

keep  pace  with  other  phases,  until  now  it  has  reached  a  high 
degree  of  perfection. 

This  of  course  necessitates  an  efficiently  organized  depart- 
ment, devoted  especially  to  this  branch  of  the  work  of  making 
photoplays  and  generally  known  in  the  studio  as  the  art  de- 
partment. In  the  architectural  division  of  this  department 
which  resembles  a  large  draughtsmen's  room,  the  ideas  for  the 
settings  are  originated,  sketched  as  drawings  and  then  laid  out 
in  blue  prints,  later  to  be  executed  by  subsidiary  branches,  such 
as  the  carpenter  shop,  the  plaster  shop,  the  mechanical  shop 
and  property  makers  and  the  scenic  artists  and  interior  decora- 
tors. 

The  art  department  is  generally  under  the  supervision  of 
some  expert  architect  and  interior  decorator  who  has  first  been 
schooled  in  commercial  architecture  and  has  mastered  the  com- 
plex art  of  studio  and  setting  architecture.  His  staff,  in  large 
studios,  consists  of  six  or  seven  skilled  draughtsmen,  such  a 
staff  being  capable  of  designing  the  sets  for  about  ten  pictures 
under  production  simultaneously,  the  average  number  of  set- 
tings per  picture  ranging  from  fifteen  to  twenty — exclusive  of 
natural  locales.  In  some,  of  course,  this  number  is  larger,  in 
others,  less. 

The  work  of  the  art  department  begins  immediately  after 
the  script  is  finished  and  often  before,  after  consultations  be- 
tween the  art  director  and  the  director  who  is  to  film  the 
production.  A  copy  of  the  finished  scenario  is  delivered  to  the 
art  department  and  the  art  director  and  his  staff  study  it 
thoroughly,  ascertain  just  what  sets  will  be  required,  the  nature 
of  their  construction,  keeping  in  mind  the  camera  technique, 
the  action  of  the  characters,  the  period  of  the  architecture  and 
supposed  locale  of  the  setting  and  certain  features  made  requi- 
site by  technical  points  of  the  story.  They  even  go  so  far  as 
to  take  into  consideration  the  complexion  and  the  color  of 
the  hair  of  the  principal  players,  when  planning  their  decorative 
schemes.  If  the  star  is  a  brunette,  a  better  contrast  is  obtained 
if  the  color  scheme  is  light,  and  vice  versa. 

The  art  department  is  rendered  valuable  aid  by  the  research 
department,  which  furnishes  it  with  all  available  information 


20  PEN    TO 

about  the  structures  in  question,  the  character  or  period  of 
architecture,  the  style  of  furnishings,  etc.  This  latter  branch 
will  be  treated  in  more  detail  elsewhere  in  this  book. 

Besides  conceiving  and  executing  original  designs  and 
plans,  the  art  staff  also  have  to  be  first  rate  copyists.  In  many 
cases,  the  picture  calls  for  a  literal  reproduction  or  replica  of 
some  interior  or  exterior  set  or  structure.  The  department 
takes  a  photograph  of  the  original  and  draws  up  plans  for 
the  replica,  keeping  the  copy  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
original.  Considering  the  perspective  of  a  photograph,  this 
is  often  a  difficult  matter.  An  instance  of  this  was  a  studio 
setting  which  was  an  exact  duplicate  of  the  palatial  lobby 
of  the  Hotel  St.  Francis  of  San  Francisco.  It  was  necessary 
to  build  this  because  of  the  inconvenience  and  impracticability 
of  taking  lights  and  paraphernalia  to  the  hotel  itself  and  also 
because  it  would  have  been  necessary  to  practically  charter  the 
lobby  for  several  days.  A  few  scenes  were  actually  taken  in 
the  big  lobby  itself  and  to  get  further  shots  to  match  up  with 
these,  it  was  necessary  to  construct  the  replica  within  the 
studio. 

After  the  blue  prints  are  made,  a  set  of  them  is  given  to 
each  subsidiary  department  which  is  to  aid  in  the  construction 
and  decoration  of  the  set.  These  include  the  carpenter  shop, 
the  property  makers,  the  plaster  department,  the  scenic  depart- 
ment and  the  property  department.  Until  the  setting  is  finally 
completed  and  turned  over  to  the  director  for  use,  it  is  under 
the  supervision  of  the  art  department. 

This  important  unit  of  the  film  organization  is  called  upon 
to  design  and  construct  sets  of  every  known  style  and  character 
of  architecture,  including  many  period  structures.  Each  man 
thus  employed  has  made  a  thorough  study  of  period  architecture 
and  also  of  character  architecture.  By  character  architecture 
is  meant  that  which  belongs  to  no  certain  period  in  history,  but 
which  is  dependent  upon  other  circumstances.  In  this  class 
comes  the  architecture  of  some  countries  which  has  remained 
much  the  same  throughout  the  ages  and  is  much  the  same  today 
as  it  was  hundreds  of  years  ago.  Japanese,  Turkish,  Chinese 
and  East  Indian  architecture  come  within  this  latter  class.  In 
other  countries,  such  as  France,  England,  America,  Italy, 


CONSTRUCTION  OF  SETTINGS  21 

Spain,  etc.,  the  architecture  has  changed  in  style  and  these 
styles  are  identified  by  certain  historical  data  or  events. 

The  art  director  and  his  staff  never  know  what  part  of 
the  world  or  what  period  in  its  history  they  are  going  to  be 
called  upon  to  identify  by  settings.  Often,  they  will  be  found 
planning  out  settings  which  typify  the  architecture  of  four  or 
five  different  countries  or  periods,  all  at  one  time.  For  this 
reason,  this  department  must  be  very  versatile  and  elastic,  as 
it  were. 

Another  important  and  interesting  feature  of  the  work 
of  the  art  department  is  the  speed  which  must  accompany 
the  accuracy  of  its  work.  In  motion  pictures,  speed  is  essen- 
tial, otherwise,  production  will  be  held  up.  If  one  cog  in  the 
machinery  is  slow  and  does  not  work  in  harmony  with  the 
others,  the  entire  machine  is  crippled  and  must  stop  until 
everything  is  ready  to  move  in  unison  again.  When  the  direc- 
tor's script  is  finally  finished  and  turned  over  to  him,  he  is 
ready  to  begin  photographing  as  soon  as  his  cast  and  settings 
are  ready.  Thus,  the  art  department  must  work  rapidly. 
Where  the  ordinary  architect  will  take  weeks  to  work  out  a 
design,  the  art  department  of  the  studio  must  evolve  the  plans 
and  begin  their  execution  in  a  matter  of  days  or  hours.  This 
is,  of  course,  made  more  possible  by  the  co-operation  and  aid 
rendered  by  the  remainder  of  the  organization  units. 

It  will  also  be  noted  that  the  modern  commercial  artist  has 
only  to  work  on  plans  for  new  structures,  whereas  the  studio 
art  department  must  evolve  plans  for  buildings  or  construction 
work,  which  in  many  instances  must  look  very  old  or  anti- 
quated. Work  of  this  kind  is  further  carried  out  by  the 
scenic  artists,  which  will  also  be  the  subject  of  another  chapter. 

Some  sets  are  designed,  built  and  turned  over  to  the 
director  in  a  few  hours  from  the  time  that  the  art  department 
receives  its  first  instructions,  while  in  the  preparation  of  the 
more  elaborate  ones,  the  time  will  run  into  days.  In  no  case, 
however,  has  it  required  over  two  or  three  weeks  for  the 
draughtsmen  to  finish  even  a  most- palatial  set  or  a  complicated 
structure  such  as  a  small  village  or  a  city  street. 

Let  us  consider  further  the  substantiality  of  the  sets  built 
for  the  finer  film  productions  of  today.  The  sets,  especially 


22  PEN  To  SILVERSHEET 

interiors,  are  generally  built  of  the  most  substantial  and  dur- 
able materials.  All  materials  used  in  genuine  construction  are 
used  in  the  better  studios,  many  of  which  maintain  their  own 
lumber  yards  and  finishing  mills.  Very  little  faking  is  done 
today  in  interiors.  I  dare  say  that  if  some  of  the  sets  built 
right  within  a  large  studio  within  a  single  year,  were  moved 
out  on  a  vacant  lot,  equipped  with  roofs  and  outside  walls, 
they  would  be  just  as  substantial  as  the  corresponding  rooms 
or  groups  of  rooms  in  any  average  modern  house  and  in  many 
cases,  much  more  artistic  and  more  beautifully  finished.  One 
particular  set  that  I  have  in  mind  was  a  studio-built  California 
Spanish  home,  with  beautiful  garden  and  exterior  and  four 
spacious  interior  rooms.  This  setting,  if  moved  on  to  a  lot 
and  finished  in  the  manner  described  would  last  for  a  good 
many  years. 

For  many  of  the  most  elaborate  structures,  or  sets,  requir- 
ing several  structures  such  as  villages  and  town  streets,  in 
order  that  the  correctness  of  design  and  construction  may  be 
assured,  and  that  the  director  may  gain  a  definite  idea  of  just 
how  the  completed  setting  will  appear,  a  complete  miniature 
model  of  the  set  is  built  in  the  art  director's  office  after  the 
blue  prints  and  sketches  have  been  prepared.  After  seeing 
this  model,  the  director  and  art  department  can  confer  thereon 
and  if  they  so  desire,  can  make  changes  in  the  plans  before 
the  set  is  finally  built. 

No  matter  what  the  nature  of  the  setting,  or  how  large 
or  complicated  a  structure  or  landscape  it  is  called  upon  to 
prepare,  the  art  department  must  not  fail.  Absolute  efficiency 
in  this  branch  of  the  work  is  necessary  and  the  word  "can't" 
must  not  be  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  art  director  or  his  assist- 
ants. 

Two  instances  of  seemingly  impossible  achievements  will 
well  illustrate  the  above  discussion.  In  the  early  days  of  the 
Lasky  studio,  Cecil  B.  deMille  was  producing  a  picture  starring 
Mary  Pickford,  entitled  "The  Little  American."  The  story 
involved  scenes  showing  the  sinking  of  the  ill-fated  Lusitania. 
The  problem  was  put  up  to  the  art  department.  It  was  a  big, 
perplexing  problem,  but  they  got  busy  and  at  once  began  con- 
struction upon  a  mammoth  concrete  tank,  some  fourteen  feet 


CONSTRUCTION  OF  SETTINGS  23 

deep.  This  tank  since  proved  a  most  valuable  addition  to 
the  studio  facilities  and  has  been  used  innumerable  times 
since  for  water  scenes  of  every  description.  The  tank  was 
finished  and  then  a  perfect  replica  of  a  section  of  the  Lusitania 
was  built  on  steel  rockers  which  rested  on  the  floor  of  the 
tank.  The  latter  was  then  filled  with  water.  Ten  tons  of 
pig  iron  were  placed  in  one  side  of  the  ship  structure  so  that 
when  released  it  would  list  to  one  side  and  turn  over,  sinking 
under  the  surface  of  the  water.  Hoisting  engines  were  set 
in  place  and  by  means  of  cables  the  ship  was  held  upright  on 
the  rockers,  and  at  the  proper  time  the  engines  were  set  in 
motion,  the  cables  slowly  unwound  and  the  heavy  pig  iron 
weighted  the  ship  down  on  its  side  until  it  sank.  All  this 
was  prepared  at  an  enormous  expense  but  it  was  highly  suc- 
cessful and  with  hundreds  of  people  registering  terror  and 
panic  as  the  ship  listed  on  its  side,  the  scene  was  striking  and 
realistic.  Controlled  by  the  cables,  the  ship  would  be  rocked 
and  finally  sunk  in  exactly  the  same  manner  as  the  sinking  of 
the  Lusitania  actually  occurred. 

Another  difficult  problem  for  a  studio  art  department,  by 
way  of  example,  was  the  construction  of  a  complete  lumber 
camp  scene  with  pine  trees,  cabins,  and  a  river  bank  with 
the  river  flowing  by,  on  the  open  studio  stage.  The  location 
director  had  hunted  in  vain  for  an  appropriate  natural  setting 
as  all  desirable  lumber  camp  locations  were  under  water  at 
that  particular  time  of  the  year  when  floods  were  at  their 
height.  The  order  came  to  the  art  department  to  build  a 
lumber  camp  on  the  open  stage.  The  camp  was  built  complete 
and  no  lumber  jack  himself,  witnessing  the  scene  on  the  screen, 
could  have  doubted  but  that  it  was  a  real,  natural  location. 

The  cost  of  these  settings  is  an  interesting  item.  The 
California  home  set  referred  to  elsewhere  in  this  chapter, 
cost  in  the  neighborhood  of  five  thousand  dollars,  for  labor, 
materials  and  landscape  and  scenic  decoration — all  complete 
ready  for  the  director.  I  have  in  mind  a  very  unusual  set, 
constructed  entirely  of  plate  glass,  for  a  Cinderella  vision  scene, 
in  a  certain  picture.  This  elaborate  plate  glass  structure 
involved  an  expenditure  of  forty-two  thousand  dollars  but  it 
was  a  monument  to  the  architect's  art  as  practiced  in  motion 


24  PEN  TO 

pictures.  Another  difficult  structure  built  for  use  in  a  picture 
involving  scenes  aboard  a  yacht,  cost  approximately  ten  thou- 
sand dollars.  On  top  of  the  structure  were  seven  deck  cabin 
set  interiors.  The  whole  was  rocked  with  winches  on  a  double 
set  of  rockers  and  when  the  scenes  were  filmed  the  motion  was 
exactly  the  same  as  on  a  floating  ship. 

To  illustrate  the  wide  variety  of  sets  which  an  art 
department  is  called  upon  to  plan  and  construct,  the  following 
examples  are  cited: 

A  completely  equipped  locomotive  cab  interior,  with  fire 
box  effects  and  so  arranged  that  snow-storm  effects  were  dis- 
cernible through  the  cab  window.  The  locomotive  was  on 
spring  rockers  so  that  action  would  be  registered  as  if  it  was  in 
motion.  This  was  for  filming  dramatic  close-up  scenes  within 
the  locomotive  cab,  these  scenes  matching  up  with  long  shots 
taken  with  a  real  locomotive. 

A  setting  representing  a  section  of  a  tunnel  bore  underneath 
a  river — the  subsequent  seeping  in  of  the  water  and  the  final 
cave-in  of  the  side  of  the  tunnel  and  gushing  in  of  tons  of 
water. 

A  complete  oil  town  with  a  working  oil  gusher. 

A  full  rigged  sailing  ship  built  and  set  up  on  an  exterior 
studio  site. 

A  north  pole  scene  with  Esquimo  huts  and  icy  atmosphere. 

These  are  only  an  illustrative  smattering.  Studio  art 
departments,  since  the  inception  of  motion  pictures,  have  repro- 
duced nearly  every  style  of  architecture  and  construction  under 
the  sun  and  representative  of  all  periods  of  time. 

In  the  larger  studios,  the  carpenters,  plumbers,  plasterers, 
property  makers  and  other  artisans  whose  work  comes  under 
the  supervision  of  the  art  department,  generally  number  about 
two  hundred  men. 


CHAPTER  III 
SCENIC  ART  AND  DECORATION 

FTER  the  plans  have  been  drawn  and  the  settings 
constructed,  comes  the  important  work  of  the  studio 
scenic  artists.  It  is  the  task  of  these  artists  and 
decorators,  to  put  the  finishing  touches  upon  these 
settings,  both  interiors  and  exteriors,  to  make  old 
effects  out  of  new  materials,  to  make  the  imitation 
to  so  nearly  resemble  the  real  that  under  the  eye  of  the  camera 
the  illusion  is  perfect,  and  when  necessary,  to  successfully 
duplicate  any  original  effect  or  decoration.  In  short,  they  must 
be  perfect  copyists,  skilled  artists  and  decorators  and  camou- 
flage experts. 

A  close-up  comparison  of  the  crude,  two-walled,  water-color 
painted  setting  of  a  few  years  ago  with  the  handsome  skill- 
fully decorated,  oil-painted,  tinted,  plastered  and  artistically 
perfect  setting  of  today,  is  most  interesting  and  serves  to  show 
the  rapid  strides  which  have  been  made  in  the  scenic  art  within 
the  studio. 

The  first  studio  scenic  artists  were  back-stage  theatrical 
scene  painters.  Their  work  in  the  studio  was  much  the  same 
as  their  stage  work.  The  head  scenic  artist  in  one  of  the  larger 
studios  of  today,  reminiscing  about  his  early  studio  work,  said : 
"When  I  first  came  to  work  at  the  studio  several  years  ago, 
they  were  building  the  majority  of  the  settings  by  putting  up 
two  canvas  flats  for  the  two  walls.  A  door  was  generally  built 
in,  but  these  doors,  like  those  in  an  old-time  stage  setting,  were 
simply  cut  in  the  canvas,  and  when  they  were  opened  or  closed, 
the  entire  wall  of  the  set  would  shake  and  quiver.  This  was 
often  noticeable  on  the  screen,  as  many  will  recall  who  remem- 
ber the  earlier  film  productions. 


26  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

"Many  of  the  properties  or  furnishings  were  often  painted 
right  on  the  walls.  For  instance,  I  often  went  into  a  set  which 
was  nothing  more  than  the  two  flats  just  described.  We 
would  then  proceed  to  paint  the  flats,  paint  in  the  windows  and 
drapes,  the  baseboards,  the  door  sashes  and  a  few  pictures  on 
the  wall.  In  kitchen  sets,  I  remember  having  painted  in  the 
stove  and  cupboard,  and  the  kitchen  window  with  a  view  of 
the  backyard  as  supposedly  seen  through  the  window.  This 
work  was  all  done  with  black  and  white  and  different  inter- 
vening shades  of  water  colors." 

Nowadays,  oils  are  used  almost  exclusively  in  interior 
decoration  and  the  decorator's  art,  instead  of  being  confined  to 
the  rough  work  of  drawing  in  furniture  and  investiture,  is 
applied  to  the  many  details  of  decoration  as  in  genuine  homes 
and  structures,  and  the  securing  of  imitation  effects  which  will 
photograph  so  nearly  like  what  they  are  supposed  to  represent 
that  on  the  screen  they  present  the  perfect  illusion.  This 
latter  knowledge  must  all  be  gained  through  practical  experi- 
ence, as  it  is  comparatively  a  new  art  and  involves  an  under- 
standing of  the  photographic  values  of  color. 

A  few  years  ago,  a  fireplace  and  mantel  would  most  likely 
have  been  painted  on  the  wall  of  the  setting,  whereas  now,  the 
fireplace  and  mantel  are  actually  built  in  with  materials, 
which  when  camouflaged  by  the  artist,  resemble  stone,  glazed 
brick,  marble  or  whatever  is  required. 

Today,  the  scenic  decorator  is  an  artist  and  combines  all 
the  knowledge  and  experience  of  the  high  salaried  interior 
decorator  and  the  most  expert  camouflage  artist.  His  job  is 
more  difficult  in  that  he  must  gain  effects  in  a  few  hours  or  at 
most  a  few  days,  which  the  commercial  decorator  requires 
weeks  and  even  months  in  which  to  accomplish. 

For  example,  the  head  scenic  artist  in  a  certain  large  studio 
one  day  received  the  startling  intelligence  that  a  replica  of  the 
lobby  of  the  St.  Francis  Hotel  in  San  Francisco,  referred  to 
previously  in  this  book,  was  being  built  on  the  studio  stage 
and  that  he  and  his  decorators  were  to  begin  their  work  at  once 
and  must  finish  in  one  day  as  the  director  was  waiting  for  the 
set.  Can  anyone  imagine  decorating  a  set  so  that  it  should  be 
an  exact  copy  of  a  portion  of  the  palatial  St.  Francis  lobby,  in 


SCENIC  ART  AND  DECORATION  27 

one  day's  time?  But  the  scenic  department  turned  the  trick. 
One  of  the  artists,  with  advance  notice,  painted  in  several  days' 
time,  a  beautiful  large  oil  painting,  a  copy  of  one  which  hangs 
on  the  wall  of  the  hotel  lobby. 

Such  speed  is  only  possible  because  the  chief  artist  and  his 
assistants  have  their  subject  well  in  hand.  They  have  made 
a  thorough  study  of  all  angles  of  the  art  of  decoration.  This 
is  more  striking  when  it  is  taken  into  consideration  that  studio 
decoration  is  even  more  complex  and  involved  than  ordinary 
interior  decoration,  because  the  camera  and  the  photographic 
values  of  colors  must  be  borne  in  mind. 

These  artists  must  know  that  if  they  can't  secure  a  certain 
shade  of  brown  paint  or  tint  which  appears  in  the  original, 
that  they  can  mix  up  a  certain  combination  of  green  that  will 
register,  on  the  film,  exactly  the  same  shade  as  the  brown 
would  have  registered,  when  photographed.  The  photographic 
values  of  colors  constitutes  one  of  the  most  important  phases 
of  the  work  with  which  a  scenic  artist  in  motion  pictures  must 
be  familiar. 

Light  yellow,  light  blue,  pink,  lavender  and  other  light 
colors  are  known  as  "cool"  colors  and  photograph  very  light 
or  white.  Yellow,  red,  dark  blue,  orange,  dark  green  and 
similar  colors,  are  called  "warm"  colors  and  register  dark  on 
the  screen.  The  cool  colors  reflect  light  and  therefore  photo- 
graph light  or  white,  while  the  warm  colors  absorb  light  and 
photograph  with  varying  degrees  of  darkness.  Often,  when 
two  colors,  which  to  the  eye  are  light  and  dark,  respectively, 
are  seen  under  the  eye  of  the  camera,  the  one  which  was  light 
will  be  dark  and  the  one  which  was  dark  will  screen  lighter 
than  the  one  which  to  the  eye  appeared  the  lighter  of  the  two. 
An  example  of  this  was  recorded  in  a  certain  picture  in  which 
the  door  facings,  fireplace  and  other  woodwork  of  a  large 
setting  were  painted  a  medium  light  yellow  and  the  wall  paper 
was  a  shade  of  grey.  Photographically,  the  yellow  was  darker 
than  the  grey. 

There  have  been  instances  where  what  to  the  eye  were  very 
beautiful  sets,  have  been  ruined  for  the  screen  by  color 
combinations  which,  photographically,  jump  and  clash  or  seem 
to  run  together.  Here  is  an  example.  A  wall  might  be 


28  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

finished  in  a  shade  of  green  and  the  woodwork  or  trimmings 
be  colored  with  brown.  If  this  brown  were  of  a  certain  tone, 
it  would  photograph  exactly  the  same  or  just  a  shade  different 
from  the  green,  producing  a  screen  effect  which  would  be  very 
disagreeable,  but  which  to  the  eye  might  seem  perfectly 
harmonious. 

From  the  foregoing  examples,  the  great  importance  of  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  these  photographic  Values,  by  the  scenic 
artists,  can  be  readily  realized. 

Hilation  is  an  evil  that  must  be  avoided.  Hilation  is  the 
reflection  of  light  by  a  glossy  surface  which  causes  a  light  blur 
to  the  camera  with  the  result  that  in  that  particular  spot  where 
the  hilation  occurs,  all  photographic  detail  is  lost.  Often  a 
painting  on  the  wall,  if  photographed  from  a  certain  angle,  will 
present  such  a  hilation  that  the  detail  of  the  picture  cannot  be 
observed.  Such  hilation  is  avoided  by  "toning  down"  or  dull- 
ing the  surface  in  question. 

The  responsibility  of  the  work  of  decoration  and  the  details 
of  design,  are  left  entirely  to  the  scenic  artists.  The  director 
simply  explains  what  kind  of  a  set  he  is  planning  upon  and 
what  effects  he  desires.  The  artists  then  work  out  the  decora- 
tive scheme.  In  one  instance,  the  director  instructed  the  artists 
that  in  one  of  his  sets,  representing  a  room  in  a  home  built  on 
the  old  colonial  style  of  architecture,  he  wished  the  walls  to  be 
finished  with  an  imitation  of  the  old-fashioned  hand-painted 
wall  paper.  The  scenic  department,  cooperating  with  the 
research  department,  obtained  a  photograph  or  illustration  of 
this  old  style  wall  paper,  and  after  the  walls  were  papered  one 
of  the  artists  proceeded  to  work  out  a  similar  hand-painted 
decorative  scheme. 

In  decorating  a  replica  of  some  original  interior  or  exterior, 
the  artist  has  only  a  still  photograph  or  a  crude  reproduction 
clipped  from  a  magazine  or  newspaper,  as  his  guide. 

The  scenic  artist's  knowledge  of  the  decorative  art  must 
include  all  periods  in  history  and  all  parts  and  nations  of  the 
world.  In  a  few  short  months,  one  scenic  department  was 
called  upon  to  reproduce  a  wide  variety  of  settings,  including 
the  interior  and  exterior  of  'St.  Mary's  Church  of  London,  the 
interior  of  the  hotel  at  Monte  Carlo,  an  entire  street  in  Shang- 


SCENIC  ART  AND  DECORATION  29 

hai,  China,  a  New  York  tenement  street,  a  San  Francisco  dock 
scene  and  numerous  modern  settings  with  a  decorative  scheme 
patterned  after  various  periods  of  American,  French  and 
English  interiors  and  exteriors. 

The  average  amount  of  materials  consumed  by  a  scenic 
department  in  the  modern  large  studio,  represents  an  outlay  of 
approximately  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  annually. 

The  studio  decorator  is  a  master  of  the  art  of  camouflage. 
Some  of  the  commonest  problems  presented  to  such  a  depart- 
ment are  included  in  the  following  examples:  The  camou- 
flaging of  compo  board  squares  and  the  proper  laying  of  them 
so  that  when  photographed  they  resemble  a  tile  or  stone  floor ; 
the  painting  of  surfaces  so  that  the  photographic  result  cannot 
be  distinguished  from  genuine  marble;  the  tinting  and 
decorating  of  plaster  so  that  it  photographs  like  bronze,  gold  or 
other  metals,  etc.  The  scenic  artist  can,  with  a  few  well- 
placed  strokes  of  his  brush,  dipped  in  the  proper  kind  of 
paint,  make  a  new  brick  wall  look  like  the  side  of  a  dingy 
tenement  house.  He  can  give  to  a  new  redwood  paneled  wall 
the  effect  of  an  oak  panel,  hundreds  of  years  old,  by  a  process 
of  scraping  and  tinting. 

The  artist's  work  is  not  confined  only  to  large  settings.  He 
is  frequently  called  upon  to  camouflage  some  prop  or  piece  of 
furniture  or  bric-a-brac  so  that  it  presents  the  appearance  of 
age  or  decay.  In  a  Russian  setting  in  a  certain  picture,  all 
the  furniture  was  made  up  in  the  studio  shops  and  copied 
exactly  from  the  original  pieces  as  shown  in  the  photograph 
which  served  as  a  guide  for  the  construction  and  decoration 
of  the  set.  It  was  impossible  to  secure  such  furniture  at  any  of 
the  antique  stores.  After  the  pieces  were  built,  the  decorator 
got  busy  and  put  the  magic  touch  of  age  upon  them.  One  piece 
was  a  cabinet  which  stood  about  four  feet  above  the  floor. 
This  had  been  made  of  redwood,  but  when  the  camoufleur 
finished  his  work,  it  resembled  the  finest  oak.  It  had  also 
been  carved  with  a  most  intricate  design.  All  of  this  tedious 
carving  work  was  executed  in  a  few  hours  by  one  of  the  men 
on  the  scenic  art  staff. 

Many  famous  artists  are  now  included  in  the  personnel 
of  the  various  studio  decorative  staffs.  For  example,  at  one 


30  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

studio,  there  is  Hans  Ledeboer,  a  Hollander,  who  painted  Hol- 
land scenes  for  the  Onondago  Hotel  in  Syracuse  and  later  did 
the  mural  decorations  for  the  Rathskeller  grill  besides  executing 
the  decorative  scheme  for  one  of  the  city's  largest  theatres. 
In  1915,  he  decorated  the  Holland  pavilion  at  the  San  Francisco 
exposition  and  for  that  work  was  awarded  a  gold  medal. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  PLASTER  SHOP 

HE  plaster  shop  is  a  studio  institution — the  existence 
of  which  is  not  generally  realized  by  the  screen  public 
— which  is  closely  related  to  both  branches  of  produc- 
tion activity  discussed  in  the  two  foregoing  chapters — 
set  construction  and  scenic  decoration. 

It   is,   however,   an   independent   unit  or   studio 
branch  and  is  unique  enough  to  be  inspected  separately. 

It  is  difficult  to  find  a  title  which  fully  covers  the  activities 
of  this  interesting  branch,  because,  therein,  the  highest  sculp- 
tural art  combines  with  the  lowly  business  of  brickmaking. 

This  shop  designs,  models  and  turns  out  all  kinds  of 
sculpture  and  ornamental  bric-a-brac  from  a  statue  of  General 
Lee  to  a  simple  wall  plaque,  according  to  the  requirements  of 
the  pictures  under  production.  A  trip  about  the  large  room 
housing  the  shop  is  like  a  combined  excursion  to  a  fine  gallery 
of  sculpture  and  the  studios  of  the  artists  who  created  the 
pieces.  Here  is  a  life-sized  figure  of  the  Madonna,  over  there 
is  a  bust  of  Shakespeare,  yonder  of  a  figure  of  a  beautiful  girl, 
symbolical  of  some  mythical  character  or  expressive  of  some 
inspired  idea. 

In  another  corner  of  the  particular  shop  which  provided 
the  material  for  this  chapter — a  shop  in  one  of  the  largest 
Hollywood  studios,  were  two  colossal  Nagos,  or  Siamese  mon- 
sters with  the  bodies  of  dogs,  and  the  heads  of  humans,  which 
I  was  informed  had  been  modeled  and  cast  within  two  or 
three  days,  with  a  photograph  as  the  only  guide  of  the  artists. 
They  were  seven  feet  in  height  and  were  for  use  in  an  immense 
outdoor  Siamese  setting  for  a  motion  picture  then  under 
production. 


32  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

We  turn  to  another  section  of  the  shop  and  see  several 
men  engaged  in  making  bricks.  Now,  the  brick  used  in  the 
construction  of  motion  picture  exteriors  are  not  the  regulation 
brick.  Those  would  be  too  unwieldy  and  would  require  too 
much  time  to  be  laid,  to  be  practicable  for  motion  picture  con- 
struction. These  brick  are  made  in  sheets  of  thirty-five 
each,  of  a  mixture  of  plaster  and  fiber.  The  sheets  are  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  thick.  The  mixed  plaster  and  fiber  is 
simply  poured  into  moulds  and  allowed  to  set,  forming  a  sheet 
of  brick.  When  these  sheets  are  nailed  up  on  beams  and 
the  sheets  fitted  carefully  edge  to  edge,  and  are  painted  with 
red  paint  or  buff  color,  as  the  case  may  be,  the  most  experi- 
enced mason  will  judge  the  result,  from  a  few  feet  distant,  to 
be  a  genuine  brick  wall.  One  man  in  the  plaster  shop  can 
make  ten  hundred  and  fifty  of  these  imitation  brick  in  one 
day.  Thousands  of  these  brick  are  used  at  this  particular 
studio  in  the  construction  of  street  settings  lined  with  brick 
buildings  and  for  other  sets  supposedly  made  with  brick. 

There  were  seven  men  working  in  this  plaster  shop  and 
everyone  was  an  artist.  Each  could  model  in  clay,  make  glue 
moulds  and  manufacture  imitation  marble,  but  all  turned  a 
hand  to  making  brick  when  not  engaged  on  some  artistic  piece 
of  sculpture  or  bric-a-brac. 

The  odd  pieces  of  decoration,  the  unusual  bits  of  statuary, 
queer  ornamental  decorations,  frescoes  and  mouldings  and 
other  ornamental  plaster  or  marble  work  such  as  fireplaces,  all 
of  which  are  frequently  seen  on  the  screen  today,  are  all 
examples  of  the  work  of  such  a  shop. 

The  process  of  making  the  casts  is  as  follows : 

One  of  the  artists  first  makes  a  clay  model  and  allows  it  to 
harden.  The  clay  model  is  then  covered  with  grease  and 
covered  with  a  coating  of  plaster  of  Paris  or  glue.  This  dries 
and  sets  and  is  taken  off  in  sections  and  then  put  back  together, 
forming  the  mould.  Into  this  mould  is  poured  plaster  of 
Paris  paste,  which  sets.  The  mould  is  removed  and  the  com- 
pleted cast  remains. 

The  artists  in  the  plaster  shop  are  continually  making 
samples  of  all  manner  of  designs  of  plaster  work  and  these  are 
numbered  and  put  on  shelves  for  selection.  All  a  director  or 


THE  PLASTER  SHOP  33 

scenarist  has  to  do  is  visit  the  shop  and  make  a  choice.  Many 
times,  unusual  pieces  are  required  and  then  special  models  are 
made.  Models  are  also  made  of  papier-mache. 

The  process  for  making  imitation  marble  is  most  interesting. 
Keene  cement  is  used  and  before  it  sets,  silk  threads  dyed  in 
various  colors  are  drawn  through  it.  This  leaves  the  charac- 
teristic marble  texture.  When  a  piece  of  this  imitation  marble 
is  broken  the  colors  can  be  seen  through  the  entire  thickness. 
The  marble  expert  in  this  shop,  who  learned  his  art  in  Italy, 
also  has  discovered  a  way  to  make  imitation  alabaster.  He 
mixes  a  hot  preparation  of  marble  dust  and  alum  which  he 
pours  into  a  special  glue  mold.  The  finished  product  looks  so 
much  like  pure  alabaster  that  even  experts  are  fooled  and  it  is 
many  times  cheaper  than  the  real  alabaster. 

Tons  and  tons  of  gypsum  and  bales  and  bales  of  fiber  are 
consumed  every  month  in  this  large  plaster  shop  to  provide 
plaster  ornamentation  of  various  kinds  for  the  productions. 
Statuary  that  would  cost  hundreds  of  dollars  if  bought  by  the 
piece  is  moulded  every  day  in  this  shop  of  beautiful  arts. 


CHAPTER  V 
iSTUDio  RESEARCH 

T  was  America's  beloved  statesman  and  martyr, 
Abraham  Lincoln,  who  said :  "You  can  fool  all  of  the 
people  some  of  the  time  and  some  of  the  people  all  of 
the  time,  but  you  can't  fool  all  the  people,  all  the 
time." 

It  might  be  asked  what  this  has  to  do  with  motion 
pictures.  For  a  number  of  years,  film  producers  uninten- 
tionally fooled  the  people  by  making  pictures  which  were  not 
entirely  truthful — and  by  that  is  meant,  pictures  which  made 
false  representations  in  the  way  of  sets,  costumes,  architecture, 
types  and  other  important  details.  At  that  time,  pictures  were 
produced  more  cheaply  and  the  producer  would  build  a  set  to 
represent  some  structure  in  some  locality,  at  some  certain 
period  of  time,  without  making  thorough  investigation  into 
these  details — in  other  words,  he  did  not  take  particular  pains 
to  tell  the  truth  through  the  medium  of  his  pictures. 

As  time  went  on,  however,  the  producer  began  to  realize 
that  one  of  the  most  important  steps  in  the  production  of  the 
modern  motion  picture,  is  to  make  it  truthful.  The  motion 
picture  must  not  lie.  Because  of  the  millions  of  people  all  over 
the  world  who  look  upon  the  picture,  its  powers  as  an  educa- 
tional factor  are  tremendous.  It  can  either  misguide  the  world 
or  it  can  tell  and  show  facts.  Conscientious  producers  began 
to  realize  their  duty  to  the  world  in  an  educational  way — of  the 
great  power  that  lay  in  their  hands  of  either  promoting  world 
education  by  presenting  facts  or  injuring  world  education  by 
presenting  misrepresentations  or  vague,  untruthful  ideas  of 
facts.  Pictures  began  to  have  a  more  widespread  circulation 
— they  were  shipped  abroad,  and  when  a  picture,  the  story  of 


STUDIO  RESEARCH  35 

which  was  laid  in  Paris,  was  shown  in  that  city,  it  became  a 
joke  to  the  French  people  because  very  few  elements  in  that 
picture  were  typically  French.  This  applied  to  any  other 
country,  or  even  to  sections  in  our  own  country  where  the 
story  was  supposedly  laid,  but  where  producers  hadn't  taken 
enough  pains  to  make  certain  that  they  had  faithfully  depicted 
the  atmosphere  of  such  a  section  in  their  picture. 

These  various  circumstances  led  up  to  the  establishment 
within  the  large  studios  of  what  are  known  as  research  de- 
partments, devoting  all  their  energies  to  the  digging  up  of  neces- 
sary data  which  make  the  pictures  true,  faithful  revelators  of 
the  actual  life  of  the  characters  which  people  them  and  a  correct 
presentation  of  the  locales  of  the  stories. 

One  can  easily  "imagine  the  tremendous  amount  of  work 
and  detail  that  falls  upon  this  unique  department  as  a  result 
of  such  a  policy.  With  several  pictures  in  production  at  one 
time,  and  research  work  to  be  done  on  each  individual  picture, 
the  work  of  the  department  is  colossal.  It  is  the  educational 
center  of  the  studio.  One  could  easily  sit  down  in  this  depart- 
ment and  take  a  literary  tour  over  the  entire  surface  of  the 
globe.  It  is  a  compendium  of  all  human  knowledge,  past, 
present  and  future,  a  source  where  any  fact  might  be  found. 

When  a  story  is  first  being  prepared  for  production,  the 
scenario  writer  often  goes  to  the  research  department  and  asks 
for  pointers  and  concrete  information  on  certain  technical 
phases  of  the  story.  Often  the  suggestions  of  this  department 
open  up  new  ideas  to  the  scenarist.  The  department  furnishes 
the  scenarist  with  a  synopsis  covering  all  the  facts  of  any  cer- 
tain proposition  under  consideration  in  the  story.  When  the 
scenario  is  finished,  a  copy  of  same  is  handed  to  the  research 
department  and  its  work  on  that  picture  is  continued.  The 
scenario  is  read  and  a  list  is  made  of  all  the  information  that 
will  be  required  during  production,  concerning  architecture, 
costumes,  customs  and  other  phases,  in  the  same  manner  that 
the  property  man  makes  a  list  of  necessary  properties.  Some 
pictures,  of  course,  require  more  work  of  this  kind  than  others. 
For  instance,  a  picture  in  which  many  of  the  scenes  are  laid  in 
a  foreign  country,  naturally  calls  for  an  immense  amount  of 
research  and  investigation  by  this  department  as  to  the  man- 


36  PEN  TO  SiLVERSHEET 

ners,  customs,  costumes,  architecture,  properties,  the  people  and 
their  characteristics  and  a  wealth  of  other  details  concerning  the 
country  or  locale  which  the  scenes  depict  and  of  which  they 
will  be  representative.  Often  a  picture  contains  a  vision  scene 
which  will  date  back  into  past  history.  For  instance,  in  a 
certain  Paramount  Picture,  there  were  several  elaborate  dis- 
solve cutbacks.  One  of  these  was  based  upon  a  court  scene  of 
the  Louis  XIV  period.  The  architecture,  the  court  manners, 
the  costumes,  furnishings  and  other  details  all  had  to  be  inves- 
tigated and  presented  in  concrete  form  by  this  department. 

The  research  workers  cooperate  with  and  aid  all  the  other 
studio  departments,  including  the  wardrobe,  property,  sculp- 
ture or  plaster,  architectural,  scenario  and  title  departments. 
For  instance,  when  the  architects  received  orders  for  a  certain 
film  production,  to  build  a  setting  of  an  opium  den  and  prize- 
fight ring  such  as  is  seen  in  Shanghai,  China,  they  called  upon 
the  research  workers  for  a  photograph,  if  such  could  be  ob- 
tained, of  such  an  interior  and  if  the  photograph  could  not  be 
obtained,  of  a  minute  and  accurate  description  of  such  a  set- 
ting. 

The  property  department  might  receive  orders  for  furniture 
or  properties  of  an  ancient,  mediaeval  or  modern  period  to  dec- 
orate a  setting.  The  property  department  obtains  from  the 
research  department  photos  or  descriptions  of  such  furniture 
or  properties  and  then  proceeds  with  its  work. 

The  plaster  department,  receives,  for  another  example, 
instructions  to  make  a  duplicate  of  a  famous  work  of  sculptural 
art,  an  ancient  frieze  or  a  figure  of  Greek,  Roman  or  Teutonic 
sculpture.  But  the  plaster  department  is  powerless  until  the 
research  experts  have  provided  it  with  a  photograph  of  this 
certain  piece  of  art,  from  which  it  can  make  a  copy. 

Research  data  cannot  always  be  obtained  in  books  and 
references  on  hand.  The  department  is  often  compelled  to  go 
outside  or  seek  in  unthought  of  places,  the  information  it 
requires.  That  is  all  left  up  to  the  people  who  are  employed  for 
this  work.  The  means  is  their  worry.  The  director  or  pro- 
ducer merely  says,  "I  want  this  or  I  want  that,"  and  it  is  up 
to  the  research  department  to  find  it. 

It  might  be  of  interest  to  glimpse  the  various  sources  from 


STUDIO  RESEARCH  37 

which  the  research  workers  obtain  their  varied  information. 
The  department  possesses  a  comprehensive  library  and  each 
and  every  book  and  periodical  therein  is  rich  in  facts,  photo- 
graphs and  picturesque  descriptions  of  everything  of  pictorial 
value.  Besides  its  own  library,  such  a  department  often  resorts 
to  the  city's  public  library.  The  average  research  department 
is  allowed  twenty  library  cards.  Three  books  may  be  taken 
out  upon  each  of  these  cards  and  at  no  time  are  any  of  the 
cards  idle.  Thus,  the  searchers  for  facts  make  continual  use 
of  sixty  books  from  the  city  library  and  these  books  are  contin- 
ually being  changed.  Every  two  weeks,  sixty  books  are 
inspected  and  studied  and  all  facts  which  might  possibly  be  used 
in  film  production  are  indexed  and  all  illustrations  which  might 
possibly  prove  of  later  value,  are  photographed  and  filed. 

Thus,  it  will  be  observed  that  a  research  department  does 
not  work  only  upon  demands  of  present  pictures,  but  is  contin- 
ually looking  ahead,  laying  up  information  which  might  be  of 
value  at  any  future  time  and  each  day  becoming  more  efficient 
and  more  able  to  meet  the  demands  of  production  work. 

A  director  or  other  important  production  units,  may  come 
in  at  any  time  in  a  hurry  and  want  something  that  very  day  or 
within  a  few  moments.  The  research  workers  must  anticipate 
their  very  wishes  and  as  a  general  rule  are  usually  at  work  upon 
the  very  proposition  they  seek  at  the  moment  they  seek  it. 

The  following  literary  works  are  among  the  most  valuable 
of  the  many  volumes  on  the  shelves  of  the  Paramount  studio 
department  library. 

Encyclopedias  of  all  kinds  and  editions;  "Historic  Dress 
in  America,"  from  1600  to  1870,  and  "Dame  Fashion,"  from 
1786  to  1912;  Stoddard's  Lectures,  Burton  Holmes  Trav- 
elogues, books  on  architecture,  costumes,  customs,  transporta- 
tion, industries,  laws,  superstitions,  creeds  and  rites  and  cere- 
monies and  pictorial  histories  of  wars  and  battles  of  every 
country,  nation  and  people  on  the  globe. 

Besides  the  numerous  volumes,  this  particular  research 
unit  has  a  standing  subscription  for  the  following  monthly 
magazines:  Architectural  Record,  Architectural  Review, 
Architectural  Review  (English  edition)  ;  Asia,  Cartoons, 
Country  Life,  Everybody's,  Good  Furniture,  Harper's  Bazaar, 


38  PEN  TO 

Harper's  Magazine,  House  Beautiful,  House  and  Garden,  Illus- 
trated Review,  International  iStudio,  Mentor,  Munsey's, 
National  Geographic,  People's,  Red  Book,  Sea  Power,  Theatre, 
Touchstone,  Travel,  Vanity  Fair  and  Vogue.  Also  the  follow- 
ing weekly  magazines :  Billboard,  Collier's,  Dramatic  Mirror, 
Exhibitor's  Herald,  Exhibitor's  Trade  Review,  Life  L'lllustra- 
tion  (French),  London  News,  London  Sphere,  Motion  Picture 
News,  Motion  Picture  World,  New  York  Sunday  Times,  Sat- 
urday Evening  Post,  Variety,  Wid's.  For  the  benefit  of  the 
wardrobe  and  designing  departments,  the  following  magazines 
are  subscribed  for:  Bon  Ton,  Fashionable  Dress,  Fashion 
Review,  Femina,  Harper's  Bazar,  Millinery  Trade  Review, 
Vogue  and  Women's  Wear. 

To  secure  legal  blanks,  deeds,  marriage  licenses  and  forms 
of  every  kind,  from  every  state  in  the  United  States  and  from 
many  foreign  countries,  this  department  wrote  to  the  many 
exchanges  for  the  distribution  of  Paramount  Pictures  and  those 
exchanges  in  turn  secured  the  forms  from  their  districts, 
Thus,  in  a  picture,  whether  the  bride  and  groom  get  married 
in  Chicago,  Montreal,  London  or  .Shanghai  and  an  insert  is 
shown  of  the  marriage  license,  when  the  inhabitants  of  the 
city  in  question  see  the  picture,  they  can  notice  with  surprised 
admiration  that  the  license  is  one  of  their  very  own  and  differs 
not  in  the  least  from  any  number  of  such  licenses  filed  in  their 
official  records.  The  same  rule  applies  in  the  case  of  deeds  and 
other  legal  forms. 

The  public  no  longer  find  an  excuse  to  say,  "Why  do  they 
do  it  ?"  because  they  see  a  California  or  New  York  automobile 
license  on  an  automobile  supposedly  filmed  in  the  streets  of 
Paris  or  London.  For  the  research  department  has  avoided  all 
further  mistakes  in  this  direction  by  securing  a  photograph  of 
the  Francis  M.  Hugo  exhibit  of  automobile  licenses  from  all 
over  the  world.  This  collection  is  revised  every  year,  and  this 
research  department  receives  every  year,  a  new  photograph  of 
the  revised  collection.  From  this  photographic  collection,  the 
property  makers  can  manufacture  an  exact  duplicate  of  the 
license  needed. 

Another  valuable  asset  of  the  average  research  department 
is  a  large  stock  of  stereopticon  views.  In  these  views  many 


STUDIO  RESEARCH  39 

countries,  such  as  Australia,  Bulgaria,  Ceylon,  Central 
America,  Cuba,  Egypt,  England,  France,  Ireland,  India,  Pales- 
tine, Philippine  Islands,  Porto  Rico,  Roumania,  The  Balkans, 
Scotland,  Servia,  South  Africa,  Spain,  West  Indies  and  other 
localities  are  represented. 

Newspapers  from  all  over  the  world,  which  prove  valuable 
as  properties  in  foreign  settings,  hotel  lobbies  and  for  inserts, 
were  obtained  by  one  research  department  by  writing  to  the 
Chamberlain  Patent  Medicine  Company  and  requesting  copies 
of  all  the  newspapers  in  which  that  firm  advertised.  If  anyone 
doubts  that  patent  medicine  companies  realize  the  value  of 
widespread  advertising,  he  has  only  to  take  a  look  at  this  col- 
lection to  have  all  his  doubts  removed. 

A  photographic  service,  such  as  Keystone  Pictorial  News 
Service  or  Underwood  and  Underwood  service  is  also  generally 
on  the  subscription  list  of  such  a  department.  The  photo- 
graphs obtained  through  such  a  service  have  proven  of  immense 
value. 

No  expense  of  time  or  money  is  spared  in  getting  the  facts 
in  any  case.  For  a  vision  scene  in  a  Cecil  deMille  production 
produced  some  time  ago,  the  producer  required  some  informa- 
tion and  if  possible,  photographs  of  an  ancient  Norse  Viking. 
The  scene  in  question  was  based  on  an  old  Norse  fable  and 
showed  the  viking  taking  leave  of  his  lady  fair  at  the  seashore. 
The  manner  of  leave-taking,  the  costumes  of  the  characters,  the 
viking's  ship  and  his  band  of  followers  all  had  to  be  faithfully 
reproduced.  The  research  department  obtained  and  purchased 
for  over  seventy  dollars  an  entire  set  of  volumes  of  old  Norse 
mythology,  entitled,  "Anglo  Saxon  Classics,"  comprising  six- 
teen volumes.  In  these  books  two  pictures  were  found  which 
filled  the  need  perfectly.  For  two  pictures  founded  on  plays 
laid  in  Civil  War  times,  the  department  purchased  a  set  of 
books  entitled,  "A  Photographic  History  of  the  Civil  War,"  in 
ten  volumes,  which  proved  of  inestimable  value. 

Despite  the  completeness  of  its  books  and  records,  a 
research  department  is  often  compelled  to  look  elsewhere  for 
its  information.  The  law  library,  educational  institutions, 
chambers  of  commerce  and  museums  are  all  searched  by  the 
investigators  for  facts.  None  are  exempt.  A  picture  of  an 


40  PEN   TO   SlLVERSHEET 

old  historic  fort  was  requested  by  a  certain  director.  The 
department,  after  a  long  search,  finally  secured  such  a  picture 
from  the  Southwest  Museum. 

One  of  the  greatest  secrets  of  facilitating  and  handling  the 
enormous  work  of  a  research  department,  lies  in  the  preserva- 
tion of  all  information  that  has  once  been  ferreted  out,  so 
that  it  can  be  found  again  at  any  time  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Elaborate  and  perfect  systems  of  filing  have  been  developed. 
When  information  of  any  nature  whatsoever  is  once  obtained, 
the  key  td  this  information  is  entered  in  the  files  and  thus  it  is 
only  necessary  to  search  once.  Let  us  illustrate.  A  picture 
was  produced  in  which  the  principal  locale  of  the  story  was 
the  famous  South  African  diamond  mines  at  Kimberley.  The 
research  department  of  the  studio  in  question  worked  a  week 
finding  all  the  references  to  Kimberley  and  the  diamond  mining 
industry,  but  at  the  end  of  that  time  all  of  the  facts  were 
carded  in  the  files.  A  short  time  thereafter,  production  was 
begun  upon  another  picture,  some  of  the  principal  scenes  of 
which  were  also  laid  in  the  diamond  mines  at  Kimberley.  But 
the  department  had  already  done  its  work.  The  files  were 
complete,  and  the  references  were  again  obtained  in  a  few 
moments. 

These  files  contain  all  information  that  has  ever  been  used 
in  the  past  and  a  great  deal  of  data  that  has  never  yet  been 
used,  but  might  be  useful  at  any  time  in  current  or  future  pro- 
ductions. They  are  rich  in  the  keys  to  all  facts  that  are  at  all 
useful  in  film  production.  These  files  are  constantly  being 
developed  and  built  up  by  the  addition  of  references  to  new 
material.  Every  new  issue  of  all  of  the  aforementioned  maga- 
zines and  periodicals  is  carefully  looked  over  by  one  of  the 
members  of  the  department  and  all  information  of  any  value 
contained  therein,  is  indexed  in  the  file.  The  research  workers 
also  scan  over  all  current  works  of  literature  of  all  kinds, 
including  fiction,  travel,  science,  etc.  It  takes  very  little  con- 
sjderation  to  realize  even  the  infinite  and  endless  labor  of  this 
one  phase  of  the  work.  Every  time  a  new  book  comes  off  the 
press — a  book  which  might  possibly  contain  useful  material — 
this  book  is  obtained  by  the  department,  thoroughly  perused 
and  its  contents  indexed  in  the  file. 


STUDIO  RESEARCH  41 

There  is  a  card  file  and  photograph  and  clipping  files. 
The  card  file  is  indexed  by  countries  and  under  the  general 
head  of  a  certain  country  come  sub-heads  referring  to  archi- 
tecture, industry,  transportation,  education,  persons  (make-up 
references),  vegetation,  costumes,  customs,  history,  wars,  prop- 
erties, etc.  A  description  of  the  matter  is  entered  on  the 
card,  together  with  the  period  or  the  date. 

The  photographic  file  is  invaluable  for  pictorial  references 
of  costumes,  architecture  and  characteristics  of  the  people  of 
various  lands.  Whenever  a  good  photograph  is  discovered  in 
any  of  the  books  or  magazines,  a  copy  of  it  is  made  at  the 
studio  and  the  print  filed  in  this  collection.  The  travel  books 
and  magazines  prove  excellent  for  this  purpose. 

The  system  of  filing  will  be  explained  by  the  following 
illustrations :  Suppose,  in  one  of  the  books  or  magazines  on 
travel,  there  is  an  illustrated  article  on  diamond  mining  in 
South  Africa.  This  article  is  indexed  under  "South  Africa" 
as  "Illustrated  article — Industry — Diamond  Mining."  Then 
each  particular  illustration  therein  is  also  indexed.  Often 
there  are  illustrations  only  and  these  are  all  carefully  indexed. 
Pictures  of  buildings  or  interiors  would  be  entered  under  the 
head  "architecture,"  and  then  under  the  general  head  of  the 
country  or  location.  In  the  same  way,  a  picture  of  a  train 
would  come  under  "transportation,"  while  a  photo  of  an  Arab 
saying  his  Mohammedan  prayers  at  high  noon  would  be 
referred  to  under  the  head  of  "Arabia — Religious  Customs." 
This  would  also  be  double  indexed  as  "Costumes."  The  white 
cards  refer  to  matter  in  the  department  while  blue  cards  refer 
to  matter  in  the  public  library  or  other  outside  sources. 

In  the  clipping  file  will  be  found  pictures  and  articles  clipped 
from  magazines  or  newspapers  not  generally  subscribed  for  by 
the  department,  or  of  those  issues  or  periodicals  subscribed  for 
of  which  the  department  has  two  copies.  In  the  latter  case,  one 
is  filed  and  the  other  clipped. 

These  files  are  the  key  to  a  wealth  of  valuable  information 
secured  only  after  years  of  work  and  research.  That  the 
system  in  this  particular  studio  is  really  a  remarkable  one,  has 
been  proven  by  the  fact  that  students  from  the  library  school 
in  Los  Angeles  come  out  in  a  body  annually  to  study  the 


42  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

system  as  a  model  for  their  work  when  they  shall  graduate 
as  librarians. 

An  alphabetical  index  is  also  kept  of  all  new  fiction  and 
once  a  month  the  department  purchases  all  new  books  of  fiction. 
This  is  a  valuable  aid  to  the  scenario  department  in  its  inspec- 
tion and  purchase  of  new  stories  upon  which  to  found  pro- 
ductions. 

Some  of  the  unusual  requests  which  have  been  made  of 
research  departments  and  their  manner  of  procedure  in  ful- 
filling these  demands  for  data,  might  be  of  interest. 

During  the  production  of  a  certain  picture,  a  question  arose 
regarding  the  form  in  which  the  much-needed  quinine  was 
carried  across  the  border  to  be  used  in  the  Confederate 
hospitals  during  the  Civil  War — whether  it  was  obtained  in 
pellets,  powders  or  pills.  This  seems  like  a  very  small  point, 
but  the  producer  was  determined  that  the  picture  should  be 
truthful,  even  in  this  small  respect,  as  the  story  was  to  depict 
the  smuggling  of  some  of  this  quinine  by  spies. 

"The  information  was  needed  quickly,"  said  the  research 
department  head,  "and  we  didn't  have  time  to  make  outside 
investigation.  That  was  one  of  the  hardest  problems  with 
which  we  were  ever  confronted.  We  always  assume,  at  the 
start,  that  we  have  the  information  somewhere.  The  question 
is  to  find  it.  We  looked  through  everything — histories  of  the 
Civil  War,  medical  histories,  war  hospital  records  and  refer- 
ences to  magazines  of  that  period.  Finally  we  found  the 
information  in  the  memoirs  of  a  certain  soldier's  life,  but  not 
until  we  had  waded  through  no  end  of  reading  matter." 

In  another  instance,  a  director  wanted  to  know  the 
symptoms  of  snow  blindness.  This  was  obtained  by  consulting 
a  noted  specialist.  On  another  occasion,  one  of  the  members 
of  a  research  department  had  to  make  a  visit  down  to  Los 
Angeles's  Chinatown  and  after  much  perseverance  succeeded  in 
obtaining  the  prescription  of  a  mysterious  Chinese  drug,  the 
formula  for  which  was  needed  for  an  insert  in  a  picture.  At 
another  time,  a  department  was  called  upon  for  pictures  of 
the  old  Santa  Fe  trail.  These  could  not  be  found  anywhere  in 
books,  but  were  secured  from  the  files  of  the  Santa  Fe  Rail- 
road company.  When  a  title  artist  asked  for  pictures  of  the 


STUDIO  RESEARCH  43 

lavender  flower  to  be  used  in  a  color  title  scheme,  the  research 
worker  was  not  daunted  when  she  didn't  discover  any  photo- 
graphs of  this  particular  species  in  the  flower  and  nature  books 
on  file  in  the  studio  library.  She  made  a  trip  out  to  the  Holly- 
wood hills  and  gathered  some  real  live  lavender  and  brought  it 
to  the  studio. 

It  might  seem  a  rather  inappropriate  task  for  a  woman  to 
go  down  and  secure  a  flashlight  photograph  of  the  interior  of 
the  Los  Angeles  County  jail,  but  that  task  fell  to  the  duty  of 
one  of  the  research  department  heads  when  the  construction 
architects  required  a  photo  of  the  jail  interior.  The  flashlight 
was  secured,  despite  the  fact  that  the  prisoners  swore  and 
protested  loudly  at  the  smoke  from  the  flashlight. 

Occasionally,  the  research  department  is  fortunate  enough 
to  get  information  without  having  to  hunt  for  it.  An  old 
timer  of  the  Canadian  Northwest  once  wrote  a  letter  to  a 
studio,  wherein  he  complained  in  this  manner :  "Why  do  the 
motion  picture  people  always  make  so  many  mistakes  in  por- 
traying an  officer  of  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police?  The 
costumes  are  often  wrong,  they  handle  the  guns  wrong  and 
they  don't  ride  right.  Why  do  they  persist  in  wearing  spurs 
when  they  ride  in  canoes  ?  A  Northwest  mounted  always  takes 
his  spurs  off  when  he  gets  in  a  canoe." 

A  letter  was  soon  on  its  way  back  from  the  research 
department  informing  the  writer  that  they  would  be  delighted 
with  full  particulars  about  the  habits,  traits,  costumes,  idiosyn- 
cracies  and  general  behavior  of  Canadian  Northwest  mounted 
men  and  thanking  him  for  his  interest.  Soon  a  reply  was 
forthcoming  from  the  first  writer  containing  much  valuable 
information  on  the  subject.  The  Canadian  need  never  look  for 
another  Northwest  mounted  character  to  wear  his  spurs  in  a 
canoe  in  any  picture  produced  by  this  company  in  question,  or 
for  similar  ridiculous  mistakes.  The  files  of  the  research 
department  have  corrected  this  and  many  other  discrepancies 
for  all  time  to  come. 


CHAPTER  VI 
COSTUMING  THE  PLAYERS 

E  can  make  a  bum  out  of  you ! 

Or,   if  you   have  higher   aspirations  and  would 
rather  be  a  doctor,  a  lawyer,  a  king,  a  rajah,  a  Turk- 
ish prince  or  a  Roman  senator,  he  can  do  a  great 
deal  towards  giving  you  the  appearance  characteristic 
of  any  of  those  types  or  any  one  of  a  thousand  others. 
This  man  with  such  magic  powers   is  the   chief  of  the 
character  wardrobe,  one  of  the  most  vital  cogs  in  the  machinery 
of  motion  picture  production.     His  chief  business  in  life  is  to 
make  the  people  look  the  part  which  they  are  to  portray  upon 
the  screen.     Although,  as  has  been  said,  "looking  the  part"  is 
important  to  success  in  real  life,  it  is  absolutely  imperative  in 
the  reel  lives  or  screen  existences  of  the  hundreds  of  pseudo- 
characters  who  inhabit  the  realms  of  Shadowland. 

When  the  wise  man  said  that  clothes  do  not  make  the  man, 
meaning  that  clothes  do  not  reflect  character,  he  was  right  and 
he  was  wrong — right  in  that  clothes  have  nothing  to  do  with 
human  character,  but  wrong  in  that  clothes  and  costume  and 
manner  of  dress  are  most  effective  and  necessary  indicators  of 
screen  character.  But  of  course,  his  day  was  before  the  day 
of  the  screen. 

Although  clothes  or  costumes  do  not  always  prove  character, 
they  do,  in  most  cases,  reflect  the  character  of  the  individual. 
The  costume  or  manner  of  dress  identifies  the  type  on  the 
screen.  When  we  see  a  soldier  on  the  street,  we  know  he  is 
a  soldier,  not  by  the  color  of  his  eyes  or  the  way  he  walks, 
but  by  the  uniform  he  wears — and  we  know,  further,  whether 
he  is  a  soldier  of  the  American,  the  British,  the  French,  the 
German  or  Coxey's  army.  We  know  this  by  the  way  he  is 


COSTUMING  THE  PLAYERS  45 

dressed.  And  the  same  applies  to  Red  Cross  nurses,  cow- 
punchers,  sailors,  aviators,  policemen,  firemen,  clergymen, 
artists,  Bohemians  and  types  in  almost  any  walk  of  life. 

The  large  character  wardrobe  at  the  West  Coast  Paramount 
studio,  the  plant  which  was  taken  as  a  model  studio  in  securing 
much  of  the  material  for  our  journey  from  Pen  to  Silversheet, 
occupies  a  floor  space  of  six  thousand  two  hundred  forty 
square  feet.  In  such  a  wardrobe,  screen  character  is  made  to 
order,  as  it  were.  This  wardrobe  is  known  as  the  "character" 
wardrobe,  as  distinguished  from  the  other  department  on  the 
upper  floor  of  the  same  building,  which  is  devoted  exclusively 
to  the  designing  of  women's  fashionable  dress  and  will  be 
described  in  detail  in  a  subsequent  chapter.  This  character 
wardrobe  provides  character  dress  for  men  and  women  players. 
When  a  player  in  a  motion  picture  is  informed  what  is  the 
nature  of  his  role  and  what  type  of  person  he  is  to  portray, 
whether  he  be  star  or  extra,  he  takes  up  his  problems  with  the 
wardrobe.  The  experts  therein  determine  just  what  sort  of 
wardrobe  he  is  to  wear,  take  his  measure,  secure  the  costumes, 
either  out  of  the  studio  stock  or  from  any  of  the  large  rental 
sources  or  if  necessary  manufacture  it  themselves  in  the 
wardrobe  tailoring  and  dressmaking  shops. 

The  word  "character"  as  used  to  describe  this  wardrobe, 
covers  a  multitude  of  varieties  of  dress.  A  "character"  cos- 
tume is  any  kind  of  apparel  or  dress  that  is  out  of  the  ordinary 
run  of  present-day  American  apparel,  or  any  costume  that 
belongs  to  a  past  period  of  time  or  to  any  other  race  of 
people.  A  business  suit  of  the  period  of  1890,  a  convict's 
stripes,  a  suit  of  armor  or  a  Chinese  kimono  all  come  within 
the  scope  of  the  term,  "character"  wardrobe. 

To  take  a  tour  through  such  an  immense  collection  of 
wardrobe  is  an  education  in  dress.  It  is  the  common  belief, 
perhaps,  that  men's  clothes  do  not  undergo  nearly  so  many 
changes  in  style  and  fashion  as  women's,  but  a  look  at  some 
of  the  specimens  hanging  on  the  hooks  in  this  wardrobe  would 
throw  a  bombshell  into  such  a  belief.  It  is  surprising  to  note 
the  changes  in  men's  clothing  which  have  taken  place  even 
within  the  past  ten  years. 

In  the  vast  stock  of  character  wardrobe,  in  the  studio  in 


46  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

question,  there  are  approximately  fifty  thousand  different  cos- 
tumes and  ten  thousand  varieties,  including  everything  from 
shoestrings  to  overcoats.  Of  some  varieties,  there  are  as 
many  as  seventy-five  outfits,  all  identical  in  material  and  style, 
such  as  uniforms,  character  shirts,  trench  helmets,  Salvation 
Army  costumes,  etc. 

Looking  about  the  place  with  a  casual  glance  we  see 
uniforms  of  all  nations  and  periods,  including  army,  police,  fire- 
men's and  civilian ;  cowboy  outfits,  including  all  paraphernalia 
from  spurs  to  hats ;  Indian  costumes,  ministers'  and  clergymen's 
costumes,  robes,  etc. ;  aviator's  clothes ;  waiters'  and  servants' 
outfits  from  every  country  in  the  world ;  English  hunting  out- 
fits; colonial  costumes,  character  dress  and  uniforms;  all 
kinds  of  character  shirts;  women's  house  dresses;  women's 
frocks  of  all  kinds,  costumes  of  Chinese,  Japanese,  Hindu, 
Turkish,  Spanish,  French  and  many  other  nationalities; 
orphanage  uniforms;  convict  stripes,  masque  ball  costumes; 
men's  and  women's  fancy  dress  costumes ;  nurses'  uniforms  of 
all  kinds,  army  and  civil ;  underwear  of  all  kinds,  a  wide  variety 
of  character  shoes  and  boots  of  various  nationalities  and 
periods  in  history;  hats  of  every  kind,  men's,  women's  and 
children's,  from  Opera  hats  to  engineers'  caps ;  tights,  African 
"G"  strings;  men's  riding  suits,  death  robes,  etc.  Of  men's 
and  women's  character  shoes  there  are  fifteen  bins,  averaging 
fifty  pairs  to  each  bin,  or  approximately  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  pairs  of  shoes.  Also  there  are  many  pairs  of  expensive 
modern  shoes  and  boots.  There  are  one  hundred  and  fifty  suits 
of  underwear,  three  hundred  and  forty  Salvation  Army  outfits 
and  many  Civil  War  uniforms — in  short,  a  representative  smat- 
tering of  nearly  every  article  of  apparel  ever  worn  by  man 
from  the  earliest  time  down  to  the  present  and  from  head 
dress  to  the  shoes. 

The  smaller  articles  include  badges  of  all  kinds,  such  as 
firemen's,  policemen's,  bellboys',  chauffeurs'  and  a  large  assort- 
ment of  medals,  including  genuine  French  Croix  de  Guerre 
and  honor  medals;  auto  licenses  from  all  over  the  country; 
collars,  collar  buttons,  chevrons,  rubber  gloves,  police,  firemen, 
navy  and  army  buttons  from  different  nations;  rubber  socks, 


COSTUMING  THE  PLAYERS  47 

army  socks,  gaudy  jewelry  of  all  kinds,  beards  and  wigs  and 
an  infinite  variety  of  what-nots. 

When  one  sees  a  soldier  outfitted  by  this  wardrobe,  in  a 
picture,  he  would  little  suspect  that  that  soldier  wears  all  regu- 
lation army  attire,  even  to  his  undergarments,  but  an  inspection 
his  wardrobe  would  reveal  that  even  his  socks  and  under- 
wear, never  visible  in  the  picture,  perhaps,  are  the  regula- 
tion socks  and  underwear.    Accuracy  is  the  watchword,  even 
the  smallest  details  of  a  costume.    For  who  knows  but  what 
the  director  will  take  a  scene  in  which  the  soldier  is  wounded, 
or   involving  some   such  circumstances  which  might   reveal 
some  part  of  his  undergarments  ? 

The  stock  contains  almost  everything  out  of  the  ordinary  in 
the  way  of  clothing  and  costumes  but  it  is  impossible  to  provide 
against  every  possible  contingency.  Often  it  is  necessary  to  go 
outside  to  rent  a  supply  of  special  costumes.  For  one  big  scene 
m  a  certain  picture,  two  hundred  fancy  dress  costumes  were 
rented,  at  a  rental  cost  of  thirteen  hundred  dollars  for  one 
week. 

Costumes  are  continually  being  made  up  by  the  wardrobe 
seamstresses  or  purchased  from  various  outside  sources.  The 
stock  is  thus  being  continually  increased  as  these  new  acqui- 
sitions are  added  and  indexed  in  the  files  of  the  department  at 
the  finish  of  the  pictures  in  which  they  are  used. 

One  of  the  most  prided  possessions  of  the  wardrobe  at  the 
studio  above  referred  to,  is  a  sterling  silver  suit  of  armor  which 
was  made  up  especially  for  Geraldine  Farrar  to  wear  in  her 
role  of  "Joan"  when  Cecil  B.  deMille  filmed  the  picture  "Joan 
the  Woman/'  This  beautiful  suit  was  made  at  a  cost  of  four- 
teen hundred  dollars  and  is  now  valued  at  about  two  thousand 
dollars.  At  the  same  time  this  suit  was  made,  fifty  other  suits 
>f  mail  were  needed  for  Joan's  soldiers.  It  was  impossible  to 
obtain  or  rent  these,  so  the  department  contracted  with  a  local 
cornice  works  to  have  them  made  at  a  cost  of  twenty-five  dollars 
each,  or  twelve  hundred  fifty  dollars  for  the  lot. 

This  immense  stock  of  the  wardrobe  is  systematically 
indexed  and  segregated  and  the  wardrobe  employees  are 
familiar  with  the  location  of  each  and  every  garment  or  class 


48  PEN  To 

of  garments.  Each  costume  has  a  number  which  corresponds 
with  the  number  on  a  card  in  the  numerical  file  index.  Where 
there  are  several  costumes  identically  alike  as  in  the  case  of 
soldiers'  uniforms,  all  are  entered  on  the  same  card  and  bear 
the  same  number.  On  this  card  is  a  description  of  the  garment 
or  costume  and  a  record  is  kept  of  when  each  costume  was  let 
out  and  to  whom  and  for  what  picture,  when  it  is  returned  and 
all  details  of  the  transaction.  Thus  every  article  is  so  checked 
in  and  out  of  the  wardrobe  that  there  is  a  minimum  of  loss. 

In  preparing  and  securing  the  costumes  for  any  picture,  the 
wardrobe  department  of  course  obtains  much  valuable  data 
from  the  research  department,  which  provides  either  a  photo- 
graph or  an  accurate  description  of  the  costume  which  should 
be  provided  the  players  for  their  respective  roles. 

In  modern  pictures,  even  the  costumes  for  large  crowds  of 
extras  are  always  provided  by  the  wardrobe  department, 
because  individuals  cannot  be  depended  upon  to  dress  them- 
selves with  the  perfect  observance  to  detail  that  is  now  neces- 
sary because  of  the  world-wide  circulation  of  motion  pictures 
among  critical  audiences. 

A  system  is  in  operation  at  most  studios  by  virtue  of  which 
the  costumes  are  always  ready  for  principals,  bits  and  extras  on 
the  days  on  which  they  are  to  be  filmed  by  the  director,  thus 
preventing  any  hold-ups  in  production  from  that  source.  The 
moment  the  scenario  is  finished,  the  wardrobe  staff  begin  their 
work  to  prepare  all  costumes.  The  assistant  director  makes 
out  what  is  called  a  "wardrobe  plot,"  which  is  an  outline  of 
each  costume  that  will  be  required  by  each  player  and  just  when 
it  will  be  needed.  Under  the  name  of  each  principal  player  and 
under  important  groups,  are  delineated  the  various  changes 
of  costume  to  be  worn,  giving  the  period  and  character  of  the 
costumes.  Each  one  of  these  changes  is  identified  by  a  number. 
The  wardrobe  department  starts  to  work  right  away  preparing 
these  costumes.  Every  day,  from  the  time  that  photography 
starts,  the  assistant  director  brings  in  what  is  known  as  a 
"shooting  schedule"  which  sets  forth  the  scenes  that  are  to  be 
filmed  on  the  day  following,  the  set  in  which  they  will  be 
filmed,  the  characters  to  be  called  and  the  particular  costumes, 
identified  by  the  numbers  of  same  as  given  in  the  wardrobe 


COSTUMING  THE  PLAYERS  49 

plot,  which  these  characters  are  to  wear.  These  costumes  are 
then  gotten  in  readiness  for  the  next  day's  work.  Most  of  the 
character  costumes  of  the  star,  if  any,  are  prepared  before  the 
picture  begins  and  turned  over  to  the  star,  who  returns  them  at 
the  finish  of  the  picture.  All  others,  however,  must  take  out 
their  costumes  every  morning  and  return  them  at  the  close  of 
the  day's  work. 

By  way  of  illustration,  a  small  portion  of  the  wardrobe  plot 
for  "Brewster's  Millions,"  a  picture  produced  some  time  ago, 
is  herewith  set  forth : 

WARDROBE  PLOT 

Picture:     "Brewster's  Millions." 

Character — Monte  Brewster (Name  of  star). 

1.  Baby  dress — period  1895  (Brewster  is  now  25  years  of 
age).    Baby  cap. 

2.  Buster  Brown  suit — period  1898,  complete.    Straw  hat, 
large. 

3.  Pajamas  and  bathrobe;  business  suit  (modern),  etc. 
The  above  partial  reproduction  shows  three  of  the  nine 

changes  which  the  star  wore  in  that  picture.  All  of  the  gar- 
ments above  entered,  except  the  business  suit,  were  prepared 
before  actual  work  on  the  picture  began  and  were  made  up  in 
the  wardrobe.  The  number  before  the  change  identifies  the 
change  on  the  "shooting  schedule,"  issued  daily  for  the  next 
day's  work.  After  naming  all  the  costumes  required  by  the 
star,  the  wardrobe  plot  continues  with  every  other  player  of 
any  importance  in  the  picture  and  sets  forth  all  the  costumes 
needed  for  that  player.  In  making  up  a  large  number  of  cos- 
tumes for  extra  people,  the  department  always  prepares  a  few 
over  the  required  number  so  that  everyone  can  surely  be  fitted 
and  there  will  be  no  danger  of  running  short. 

The  moment  a  garment  or  suit  is  finished  with  by  any 
player,  it  is  immediately  sent  out  to  be  cleaned  or  laundered. 
In  this  way,  everything  in  the  vast  stock  is  kept  strictly  clean 
and  sanitary. 

Illustrating  the  complicated  nature  of  the  work  of  the 
wardrobe  experts — a  picture  was  produced  in  which  about  two 
hundred  costumes  were  provided  for  a  sequence  of  scenes  in  a 


50  PEN  TO 

single  Chinese  cafe  setting.  This  was  supposedly  a  Bohemian 
cafe  in  Shanghai  and  costumes  had  to  be  furnished  for  many 
types  of  people  of  various  nationalities  and  various  degrees  of 
caste.  The  types  in  this  particular  setting  included  Chinese, 
English,  Japanese,  American,  French,  Turkish,  Hindu  and 
other  nationalities.  There  were  rich  men,  tourists,  pleasure 
seekers,  idlers,  gamblers  and  all  classes  from  the  most  aristo- 
cratic on  down  to  the  dregs  of  human  society.  All  these  had 
to  be  appropriately  costumed. 

The  value  of  the  wardrobe  stock  is  a  most  interesting  phase. 
This  valuation  must  be  expressed  in  two  sets  of  figures.  Its 
cold,  commercial  value  might  be  confined  to  ten  or  fifteen  thou- 
sand dollars,  in  the  case  of  the  average  large  studio,  but  in 
"another  sense,  the  stock  might  be  said  to  be  worth  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars,  taking  into  consideration  the  scarcity  of 
some  of  the  articles  and  the  time  and  trouble  and  expense 
involved  in  securing  them.  For  instance,  if  you  spent  a  thou- 
sand dollars  in  a  search  for  some  antique  that  would  be  worth, 
in  actual  practical  figures,  about  a  hundred  dollars,  you  would 
not  think  of  parting  with  it  for  less  than  eleven  hundred.  That 
would  represent  its  value  to  you.  Much  of  the  wardrobe  cloth- 
ing, which,  being  character  stuff,  is  old,  worn  or  faded;  would 
be  assessed  at  a  very  low  figure  by  the  junk  dealer  or  the  second 
hand  merchant.  But  after  taking  into  consideration  the  diffi- 
culties encountered  in  securing  such  stock,  its  value  in  motion 
pictures,  its  completeness,  the  extreme  scarcity  of  some  of  the 
garments  and  paraphernalia,  we  arrive  at  an  entirely  different 
sense  of  values.  Anyone  who  thinks  it  would  be  easy,  for 
instance,  to  go  out  and  get  possession  of  an  old  suit  of  clothes 
made  about  the  year  1898,  is  badly  mistaken.  Such  relics  are 
scarce.  Value  is  a  variable  thing  and  varies  with  how  badly  a 
thing  is  wanted  or  needed.  An  old  suit  or  pair  of  pants  which 
might  be  considered  worthless  by  the  person  who  has  worn  it 
years  ago,  might  be  very  valuable  to  the  wardrobe  department 
inasmuch  as  the  lack  of  just  such  a  costume  and  the  time  con- 
sumed in  obtaining  it,  might  hold  up  an  expensive  company 
and  pile  up  huge  salaries  for  two  or  three  days. 

One  of  the  most  cherished  possessions  of  a  certain  studio 
wardrobe  is  an  old  London  cab  driver's  coat — green  with  age 


COSTUMING  THE  PLAYERS  51 

and  just  the  thing  to  set  off  the  character  of  the  old  fashioned 
London  cabby.  Any  individual  would  perhaps  gladly  part  with 
it  for  a  dollar  and  a  half,  but  to  the  wardrobe  it  is  worth  some- 
thing like  a  hundred  dollars  because  it  took  a  week's  time  and 
some  little  expense  to  get  it.  The  cleaners  are  always  cau- 
tioned to  be  particularly  careful  with  it  and  not  to  injure  it. 
The  value  of  worn  clothing  lies  in  the  very  fact  that  they  are 
naturally  worn.  It  might  be  possible  to  cut  or  tear  some  holes 
in  a  pair  of  pants  and  put  them  on  a  character  but  they  would 
never  look  like  the  marks  of  genuine  age  and  wear  and  would 
impair  the  realism  of  the  characterization  in  the  picture. 

The  wardrobe  is  constantly  on  the  lookout  for  suitable 
stock,  and  in  emergencies  often  goes  to  honorable  extremes  to 
get  a  certain  article.  "On  one  occasion,"  relates  a  certain 
wardrobe  chief,  "I  saw  a  fellow  on  the  street  down  town  with 
an  old  coat  on  and  one  which  was  just  the  thing  we  needed  for 
a  character  in  a  certain  picture.  I  bought  it  right  off  his  back 
for  five  dollars.  Another  time  I  bought  a  ragged  fellow  a 
brand  new  pair  of  trousers  for  an  old,  ragged  pair  which  he  was 
wearing.  He  accepted  my  offer  quickly,  thinking,  perhaps,  I 
must  surely  be  crazy  and  anxious  to  close  the  deal  before  I 
came  to  my  senses." 

A  striking  instance  of  the  detail  involved  in  the  selection 
of  proper  costumes  is  to  be  seen  in  the  following  example :  The 
scenes  of  a  certain  picture  were  to  show  a  New  York  police- 
man bending  down  over  a  little  boy  who  was  picking  a  flower 
from  a  parking.  It  was  necessary  to  investigate  the  exact  date 
at  which  this  particular  species  of  flower  bloomed  in  New  York 
and  then  to  ascertain  whether  or  not  by  that  date  the  members 
of  the  New  York  police  force  had  changed  to  their  summer 
uniforms. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FILMLAND'S  FASHION  SHOPS 

RTISTIC  motion  pictures  call  for  characteristic 
settings  and  investiture,  perfect  photography,  appro- 
priate costumes  and  beautiful  gowns  for  the  feminine 
star  or  principals.  Hardly  a  picture  is  now  produced 
which  does  not  contain  some  scenes  in  which  such 
feminine  star  or  principals  are  shown  elaborately  and 
gorgeously  gowned.  Gowns  and  women's  fashionable  dress 
have  become  recognized  as  an  attractive  feature  of  any  good 
picture  and  the  situation  has  now  reached  the  point  where 
milady  never  attends  a  motion  picture  show  without  taking 
close  observation  of  the  gowns,  hats  and  other  fashions  worn 
by  the  feminine  members  of  the  cast.  She  has  come  to  realize 
the  care  exercised  in  preparing  these  gowns,  their  exclusiveness 
of  design  and  their  originality  of  style. 

Thus  it  is  that  that  studio  department  which  devotes 
itself  to  the  creation  and  fabrication  of  women's  fashions  has 
become  one  of  the  most  important  in  the  entire  work  of  produc- 
tion. Besides  being  one  of  the  most  important,  it  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  and  in  the  larger  film  plants,  it  presents  a 
most  convincing  proof  of  the  rapid  strides  which  have  been 
made  in  modern  film  production.  The  fashion  department,  as 
it  may  be  termed,  is  much  the  same  as  any  large  dressmaking 
and  designing  establishment.  It  is  complete  within  itself  and 
operates  under  its  own  organization,  synchronizing  its  work,  of 
course,  with  the  demands  of  the  directors  and  players,  as  in  the 
case  of  all  other  studio  departments. 

The  fashion  department  of  our  model  studio  occupies  the 
entire  second  floor  of  the  large  concrete  building,  the  lower 


FILMLAND'S  FASHION  SHOPS  53 

floor  of  which,  as  mentioned  in  the  previous  chapter,  contains 
the  character  wardrobe. 

One  hundred  to  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  girls  and  women 
are  employed  at  all  times  and  the  gowns  worn  by  all  the  prin- 
cipals and  extras  are  designed  and  finished  for  use. 

Illustrative  of  the  capacity  of  this  unique  department  is  the 
fact  that  three  thousand  gowns  were  designed  and  finished  in 
the  workrooms  during  one  average  year,  for  use  in  the  pictures 
produced  at  the  one  studio.  This  represents  a  daily  average  of 
about  nine  new  gowns. 

Five  distinct  branches  comprise  the  fashion  department. 
These  are  the  dressmaking  room,  the  stock  rooms,  the  finished 
wardrobe,  the  millinery  shop  and  the  fancy  costume  shop.  The 
stock  rooms  contain  the  materials  to  be  used  in  the  gowns,  hats, 
etc.,  the  finished  wardrobe  is  a  long  room  filled  with  hangers, 
drawers  and  shelves  wherein  are  stored  and  hung  the  finished 
gowns  and  hats  and  other  fashion  accessories  such  as  bags, 
shoes,  furs,  plumes,  etc.  In  the  dressmaking  room  are  some- 
thing like  thirty  or  forty  sewing  machines  operated  by  expert 
seamstresses;  also  a  number  of  designers,  cutters  and  fitters, 
who  carry  out  the  instructions  of  the  chief  designer.  In  the 
millinery  shop  are  the  designers  and  makers  of  new  styles  in 
hats.  Many  pictures  call  for  fancy  costumes  such  as  for  a 
masque  ball  scene  or  period  wardrobe.  These  are  designed 
and  made  up  in  the  fancy  costume  department.  All  of  these 
separate  branches  are  under  the  direct  supervision  of  the  head 
designer. 

As  a  rule,  for  almost  every  feminine  principal  in  nearly 
every  picture  produced,  several  gowns  are  necessary.  This 
means  a  continual  production  of  new  and  original  designs  as 
no  gown  which  has  ever  been  worn  previously  by  a  principal 
can  be  worn  by  the  same  principal  or  any  other  principal  in  a 
later  picture.  The  gowns,  after  being  finished  with  by  the 
principals  in  any  one  picture  are  remodeled  and  hung  in  the 
finished  wardrobe  to  be  assigned  to  extras  in  large  ballroom 
and  social  scenes  in  later  pictures.  But  even  this  stock  must 
be  disposed  of  after  being  used  a  few  times. 

One  of  the  most  talked-of  sales  in  the  history  of  feminine 


54  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

fashion  was  held  at  the  fashion  department  of  a  certain  studio 
and  some  three  or  four  hundred  gorgeous  creations  were  sold 
to  the  public  at  ridiculously  cheap  prices.  These  had  been 
used  to  their  screen  limit  and  although  still  in  excellent  condi- 
tion, some  of  them  being  almost  brand-new,  they  had  to  be  dis- 
posed of  as  they  were  no  longer  available  for  screen  use.  This 
was  a  decided  proof  of  the  practicability  and  genuineness  of  the 
gowns  as  designed  today  for  screen  players.  They  could  be 
worn  in  real  life  just  as  well  and  were  made  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  genuine  materials. 

A  further  example  of  the  genuineness  of  these  gowns  as 
designed  for  use  before  the  camera  is  the  fabulous  cost  of 
some  of  the  creations  of  a  studio  fashion  department.  A  gown 
worn  by  Gloria  Swanson  in  a  certain  picture,  which  contained 
thousands  of  pearls  and  a  large  strip  of  ermine,  cost  over  three 
thousand  dollars.  Another  seen  in  the  same  picture — a  negligee 
of  black  velvet,  was  valued  at  one  thousand  dollars.  Several 
Chinese  costumes  worn  by  another  star,  represented  a  valuation 
of  from  three  hundred  to  seven  hundred  dollars  each. 

All  designs  by  the  chief  designer  are  absolutely  original. 
This  is  the  only  way  to  keep  in  advance  of  style.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  a  picture  is  not  released  for  the  screen  until 
about  five  or  six  months  after  its  production.  Therefore,  the 
styles  worn  by  the  feminine  players  in  the  picture  must  be 
several  months  ahead,  so  that  by  the  time  the  picture  is 
released,  no  worn-out  styles  will  be  seen  in  the  new  pictures. 
The  gowns  must  be  absolutely  appropriate  for  the  characteriza- 
tion in  the  picture  in  question.  They  must  be  just  as  expensive 
or  just  as  plain  as  the  occasion  demands. 

The  head  of  the  fashion  department  is  usually  a  designer 
who  has  had  extensive  experience  in  some  exclusive  eastern 
establishment  and  is  prolific  in  the  work  of  creating  and  execut- 
ing original  feminine  attire. 

The  best  of  materials  are  purchased  for  this  work  and  the 
latest  novelties  and  weaves  are  obtained.  The  department  is  in 
constant  touch  with  import  agents  and  buys  small  quantities  of 
all  the  most  costly  and  newest  materials.  Small  quantities  are 
bought  because  each  gown  must  be  exclusive  and  not  more  than 


FILMLAND'S  FASHION  SHOPS  55 

one  or  two  gowns  must  be  made  up  of  any  new  kind  of 
materials,  as  a  greater  number  would  cheapen  the  new  creation. 

The  chief  designer  of  one  large  studio  makes  a  trip  every 
few  years  to  New  York  and  Paris,  Rome  and  London  for  the 
purpose  of  looking  over  new  materials  and  getting  new  advance 
fashion  ideas.  The  beneficial  results  of  such  a  trip  are  always 
seen  in  the  gowns  which  the  players  wear  in  succeeding  pic- 
tures, most  of  which  are  of  exquisite  design  and  material  and 
which  fully  justify  the  expense  of  the  trip.  While  abroad  she 
secures  many  accessories,  the  majority  of  which  will  not  be  on 
the  general  market  for  months  to  come.  On  one  voyage,  a  cer- 
tain designer  bought  up  a  supply  of  black  and  white  monkey 
fur  which  was  very  new  and  rare  at  that  time  and  which  she 
secured  only  after  searching  London  and  Paris.  This  was  made 
up  into  a  gorgeous  monkey  fur  coat  which  was  seen  on  the 
screen  soon  after  her  return,  worn  by  a  feminine  star  in  a 
motion  picture  vehicle. 

In  making  a  gown,  the  designer  begins  with  the  materials 
and  a  dress  form.  There  is  one  dress  form  in  the  shops  for 
every  feminine  star  and  principal  in  the  studio  and  these  forms 
bear  the  names  of  the  respective  persons  of  which  they  are 
identical  in  figure.  The  designer  drapes  the  materials  about  the 
form  until  she  obtains  a  new  and  striking  effect,  then  pins  it  in 
place  and  gives  her  instructions  to  her  assistants.  No  pattern 
is  made  except  in  the  case  of  tailored  fashions.  A  pattern 
serves  to  spoil  the  originality  of  a  gown,  giving  it  a  stiff  and 
stereotyped  appearance.  The  gown,  after  being  cut  and  put 
together,  is  then  fitted  to  the  player  for  whom  it  is  intended,  but 
so  efficient  has  become  the  fashion  department  that  any  altering 
is  very  rarely  necessary. 

The  fashion  department  of  the  studio  differs  principally 
from  any  exclusive  dressmaking  establishment,  only  in  the 
amount  of  time  consumed  in  turning  out  a  new  creation. 
Where  the  average  exclusive  shop  would  take  a  week  or  more, 
the  designer  and  her  staff  will  perfect  a  design  and  make  the 
gown  in  a  much  shorter  time,  ranging  all  the  way  from  several 
hours  to  two  or  three  days.  Speed  in  this  as  in  other  depart- 
ments is  essential.  The  director  must  not  be  delayed  by  uncom- 


56  PEN  TO 

pleted  gowns  and  they  must  be  ready  on  schedule  time.  At  the 
time  this  chapter  was  written,  one  designer  had  orders  for  five 
new  gowns  for  a  well-known  star,  to  be  worn  in  a  new  picture. 
The  time  limit  allowed  her  for  the  designing  and  completion  of 
these  five  new  gowns  was  about  two  days  and  she  was  just  pre- 
paring to  begin  her  work. 

The  producers  place  no  limitations  on  their  designers  in 
their  choice  and  use  of  rich  and  expensive  materials.  Thus,  the 
designing  and  creation  of  these  gowns  constitutes  one  of  the 
most  costly  items  on  the  studio  books.  In  order  to  justify  this 
enormous  expense,  the  economic  phase  of  this  work  is  very 
carefully  considered  and  a  policy  of  the  strictest  conservation 
of  materials  is  adhered  to. 

"We  do  not  waste  so  much  as  a  button  or  a  scrap  of  cloth," 
observes  one  prominent  studio  designer.  "We  secure  the  best 
fabrics  obtainable  and  get  all  the  new  weaves  as  soon  as  they 
are  out,  buying  staple  goods  direct  from  the  factories  and 
novelties  direct  from  the  importers.  At  the  beginning  of  each 
picture,  I  estimate  the  probable  cost  of  the  gowns  which  will  be 
required.  There  is  no  standard  figure  which  will  represent  the 
cost  of  the  gowns  for  any  single  picture.  It  varies,  of  course, 
with  the  number  and  quality  of  gowns  required.  I  have  made 
up  dresses  for  a  single  picture,  ranging  in  cost  all  the  way  from 
fifteen  dollars  to  several  thousand  dollars  a  dress.  The  total 
cost  of  gowns  in  one  Gloria  Swanson  picture  was  about  ten 
thousand  dollars." 

Many  are  under  the  impression  that  the  stars  and  principals 
furnish  their  own  gowns.  This  is  not  so  in  the  case  of  players 
in  the  larger  modern  studios. 

There  is  a  tremendous  saving  in  the  designing  and  making 
of  gowns  right  in  the  studio.  A  studio  fashion  shop  can  pro- 
duce gowns  for  just  fifty  per  cent  as  much  as  would  have  to  be 
paid  for  similar  import  gowns  were  they  bought  from  shops  and 
importers. 

The  gowns  made  for  all  feminine  stars  and  leading  women 
are  held  from  sixty  to  ninety  days  after  the  picture  is  finished 
and  in  many  cases  until  the  picture  is  released,  when  they  are 
often  used  for  special  exploitation  purposes.  At  the  opening 
of  a  certain  picture  in  which  many  beautiful  gowns  were  worn 


FILMLAND'S  FASHION  SHOPS  57 

by  the  feminine  star,  the  most  elaborate  of  those  were  sent  to 
New  York  and  worn  on  the  stage  in  a  prologue  put  on  by  the 
exhibitor  who  ran  the  picture. 

No  original  design  is  ever  used  in  another  picture,  but  the 
materials  are  used  over  and  over  again.  After  it  has  been  held 
for  the  customary  period  of  time  after  the  completion  of  the 
picture,  the  gown  is  taken  completely  apart  and  the  materials 
laid  away  for  future  use  in  other  gowns.  The  average  fashion 
department  has  continually  in  stock  hundreds  of  gowns  which 
have  been  worn  and  then  made  over  so  that  they  are  completely 
new  in  design.  Many  of  these,  as  explained  before,  are  worn 
by  extra  people  in  large  ballroom  and  society  scenes. 

When  materials,  such  as  velvets  and  brocades,  become  too 
soiled  for  use  and  cannot  be  effectively  cleaned,  they  are  dyed 
another  color  and  can  then  be  used  again.  When  the  materials 
get  to  the  point  when  they  can  no  longer  be  used  in  the  making 
of  new  gowns,  they  are  often  made  up  into  fancy  pillows  for 
use  on  the  settings. 

Occasionally  the  gowns  are  subjected  to  hard  wear  or 
destructive  elements  and  the  materials  are  rendered  useless  in 
making  new  creations.  Then  the  loss  is  considerable  because 
of  the  possibility  of  using  the  materials  for  gowns  in  only  one 
picture.  Many  beautiful  designs,  made  up  for  the  girl  chorus  in 
a  pony  show  sequence  in  a  certain  picture  were  all  badly  worn. 
The  girls  playing  in  the  chorus  all  danced  and  worked  in  them 
for  about  three  weeks,  many  rehearsals  of  the  dancing  act  being 
necessary  before  the  scene  could  be  perfected. 

The  department  strives  constantly,  however,  to  keep  waste 
or  loss  of  materials  down  to  a  minimum  and  to  get  all  possible 
use  out  of  every  piece  of  cloth  or  trimming  which  is  brought 
into  the  wardrobe  stock.  Even  such  little  things  as  flower  trim- 
mings are  used  again  and  when  they  begin  to  fade  are  dyed 
black. 

The  biggest  item  on  the  fashion  loss  account  is  that  caused 
by  the  use  of  gowns  in  water  scenes — scenes  in  which  the 
players  and  gowns  are  sprinkled  or  drenched  by  water.  In  such 
a  scene  the  gown  is  almost  invariably  ruined  and  the  materials 
have  to  be  discarded. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
PROPERTIES 

HAT  is  a  motion  picture  prop  ? 

Upon  the  definition  of  this  little  word  hinges  the 
immensity  of  the  task  of  the  property  department  of 
any  large  modern  film  producing  plant,  for  the  work 
of  such  a  department  is  to  obtain  the  necessary  props 
or  properties  used  in  the  settings  which  form  the  back- 
grounds for  the  picture. 

That  little  word  "prop" — which  is  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  the  word  "property"  shortened  in  typical  American 
style — is  perhaps  about  as  general  a  term  as  is  to  be  found  in  the 
English  language,  for  anything  under  the  sun  that  is  handled 
by  the  players  or  used  before  the  camera  in  connection  with  a 
motion  picture  scene,  comes  within  its  scope.  Neither  a  circus 
elephant,  a  railway  coach  nor  a  wedding  ring  are  necessarily 
props  until  they  are  used  in  a  scene  in  a  motion  picture,  but 
when  so  used  they  immediately  come  under  that  classification. 

The  importance  and  difficulty  of  the  work  of  the  property 
department  lies  in  the  wide  variety  of  articles  that  may  be  so 
used  and  the  effort  required  to  locate  and  secure  such  articles 
for  use  in  motion  picture  scenes. 

The  property  man  must  strike  the  word  "can't"  from  his 
vocabulary.  He  may  not  know  where  he  is  to  secure  an  article 
for  a  picture,  at  the  time  it  is  requested,  but  he  must  make  it  a 
point  to  know  as  soon  as  possible  and  go  and  get  it.  There  is 
perhaps  no  other  vocation  in  the  industry  where  one  is  better 
trained  to  "deliver  the  goods,"  and  nothing  but  the  goods 
wanted. 

Here  is  what  the  chief  of  one  of  the  large  studio  property 


PROPERTIES  59 

departments  says  regarding  their  work  and  their  methods  in  its 
execution : 

"One  of  the  most  important  tricks  in  this  game,"  he 
observes,  "is  to  know  in  advance  where  you  can  find  anything 
under  the  Sun  in  short  notice,  because  making  motion  pictures 
is  just  one  long  series  of  short  notices.  My  men  and  I  are  on 
the  job  all  the  time.  We  keep  our  eyes  open  all  day  long  and 
sleep  with  one  eye  open  at  night.  Props  are  our  creed,  our 
philosophy,  our  ideal,  our  main  aim  in  life.  The  more  informa- 
tion we  can  get  in  our  heads  and  on  our  books  about  props,  the 
happier  we  are.  We  take  a  particular  pleasure  in  uncovering 
the  hiding  place  of  some  unusual  and  unthought-of  property. 
We  don't  wait  until  we  are  called  upon  to  furnish  something. 
We  get  a  line  on  everything  and  then  when  some  particular 
thing  is  wanted,  it  often  falls  within  the  list.  Preparedness  is 
our  watchword.  No  day  passes  but  what  our  files  are  supple- 
mented with  a  new  lot  of  information  about  where  certain 
properties  can  be  located  quickly.  We  never  miss  a  bet.  If  we 
see  a  prop,  anywhere,  we  get  the  dope  about  it. 

"One  night  I  chased  a  Ford  taxicab,  1913  model,  for  twelve 
blocks  and  finally  caught  it  at  Fifth  and  Main.  I  saw  that  it 
had  an  unusual  feature  and  one  which  we  are  constantly  on  the 
lookout  for.  Despite  its  age,  it  had  been  kept  in  perfect  condi- 
tion, was  well  polished  and  looked  almost  like  a  new  issue  of  an 
old  model.  That,  to  me,  was  a  valuable  find,  because  we  often 
find  it  necessary  to  get  some  property  for  a  picture,  the  action 
of  which  is  supposed  to  have  transpired  several  years  ago.  For 
such  a  story  we  need  props  which  are  in  keeping  with  that 
period  of  time,  but  which  often  must  appear  to  be  new  or  only 
slightly  worn.  I  obtained  the  address  where  the  car  could  be 
secured,  a  description  of  the  car  and  next  day  entered  it  on  my 
index  at  the  studio.  It  wasn't  over  two  weeks  until  I  was 
informed  that  a  certain  director  wanted  just  such  a  car  for  his 
picture." 

As  will  be  understood  from  the  foregoing,  there  are  two 
property  indexes.  One  is  a  list  of  the  properties  on  hand  in  the 
prop  room,  naming,  describing  and  numbering  something  like 
sixty-five  thousand  items,  and  the  other  a  list  of  obtainable 


60  PEN  To  SILVERSHEET 

props,  much  larger  than  the  first  list,  and  which  contains  all 
necessary  information  about  properties  not  on  hand  but  which 
may  be  secured  on  short  notice,  where  they  may  be  secured, 
possible  rental  costs,  etc. 

Every  article  in  stock  in  the  property  department  bears  a 
number  which  corresponds  with  the  number  of  that  article  in 
the  index  book.  This  book  gives  a  complete  description  of  the 
prop,  a  record  of  when  it  is  given  out,  the  number  of  the  picture 
and  the  set  in  which  it  is  used  and  when  it  is  returned  to  the 
stock.  The  list  of  obtainable  props,  not  on  hand,  includes,  as 
might  be  surmised,  a  ridiculous  variety  of  entries,  ranging  from 
trained  monkeys  and  foreign  automobiles  to  false  teeth.  This 
list  is  necessarily  several  times  larger  than  the  list  of  articles 
on  hand  and  is  added  to  and  increased  daily. 

One  of  the  largest  props  on  record  and  which  is  entered 
on  this  latter  list,  is  a  circus.  One  day,  the  property  man  at 
a  large  studio  received  instructions  from  a  director  to  get 
him  a  complete  circus.  The  former  located  a  circus  on  a 
tour,  the  director  conformed  his  schedule  to  accommodate 
the  time  of  its  arrival  in  the  city,  and  the  circus,  upon  arriv- 
ing, was  engaged  in  its  entirety  for  two  days. 

Despite  the  property  man's  efforts  to  keep  always  ahead 
of  the  game  and  posted  with  advance  information  about  what 
will  be  needed,  there  are  of  course  numerous  occasions  when 
he  is  caught  unprepared.  It  would  be  beyond  the  limits  of 
human  possibility  for  him  to  have  a  line  on  every  conceivable 
article  that  comes  within  the  meaning  of  the  little  word, 
"prop,"  and  for  which  a  need  might  arise  during  the  course 
of  a  picture.  When  he  hasn't  the  article  listed,  he  has  to  get 
out  and  dig  for  it  in  a  hurry.  There  is  no  other  alternative. 
With  him  rests  the  final  responsibility.  He  must  go  and  get  it 
and  he  always  works  on  the  assumption  that  any  property  can 
be  obtained  and  that  he  can  find  it. 

As  soon  as  the  script  is  finished  by  the  scenario  department, 
the  property  man's  work  begins.  Each  separate  producing 
company  has  a  property  man  who  works  right  with  the  com- 
pany staff.  This  man  makes  out  what  is  known  as  a  property 
plot.  The  chief  of  the  property  department  and  his  men, 
make  out  another  plot  and  the  two  are  then  compared.  From 


PROPERTIES  61 

this,  a  complete,  final  property  plot  or  list  of  properties  which 
will  be  needed  for  the  picture,  is  evolved.  This  list  then 
serves  as  the  guide  sheet  for  the  department  as  to  what  will 
be  needed,  and  when,  and  the  men  begin  their  work  imme- 
diately to  locate  and  produce  everything  on  the  list. 

The  property  division  is  also  responsible  for  the  furniture 
and  furnishings,  draperies  and  decorations  for  the  setting. 
Some  of  the  furniture  is  in  stock,  but  most  of  it  has  to  be 
rented,  to  avoid  duplication. 

As  an  example  of  some  of  the  unusual  properties  which 
a  department  is  sometimes  called  upon  to  provide,  some  of 
the  items  on  the  prop  list  for  a  Paramount  picture  starring 
Wallace  Reid,  are  cited.  This  was  an  automobile  race  story 
and  among  other  things,  eight  fast  racing  cars,  each  capable 
of  attaining  a  speed  of  more  than  eighty  miles  per  hour,  were 
required.  To  pilot  these  eight  cars,  it  was  necessary  to  find 
experienced  racing  pilots,  to  insure  a  minimum  of  danger  to  all 
concerned.  Four  of  the  cars  were  secured  from  Mr.  Fred 
Duesenberg  of  the  Duesenberg  Motor  Company,  who  was  at 
that  time  on  the  coast  for  a  big  racing  meet.  These  cars  were 
all  regular  racing  entries.  Four  famous  pilots  were  engaged  to 
drive  them.  Then  four  more  pilots  were  signed,  each  of  whom 
had  his  own  machine.  Another  item  on  the  list  called  for 
enough  machines  to  completely  stock  an  automobile  show  room. 
For  this,  trucks,  touring  cars,  coupes,  roadsters  and  sedans 
were  rented. 

The  value  of  the  articles  in  stock  in  the  property  depart- 
ment is  of  interest.  Like  the  stock  in  the  wardrobe,  as 
described  in  a  previous  chapter,  the  properties  might  be  said 
to  have  two  values— one  computed  from  a  cold,  commercial 
standpoint,  the  other  contingent  upon  the  usefulness  of  the 
articles  to  the  studio,  and  the  amount  of  labor  and  time  that 
was  spent  in  securing  them.  One  property  head  recalls  having 
once  spent  six  dollars  in  automobile  hire  and  about  thirty 
dollars  worth  of  time  in  locating  an  old  frayed  lady's  purse, 
which  would  be  worth  about  twenty-five  cents  to  the  junk 
dealer.  This  was  needed  for  a  picture  and  the  only  thing 
to  do  was  to  find  it,  at  all  costs. 

Many  of  the  rented  properties  are  of  great  value,  and  one 


62  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

of  the  most  important  responsibilities  of  a  property  department 
is  the  careful  handling  of  these  rentals  and  returning  them  to 
the  original  source  in  the  same  condition  in  which  they  were 
received.  In  a  Paramount  picture  starring  Gloria  Swanson, 
there  was  one  setting  representing  several  interior  rooms  of 
an  old  English  ancestral  home,  for  which  the  property  depart- 
ment secured  something  like  twenty-two  thousand  dollars 
worth  of  rented  properties.  These  included  two  walnut  an- 
tique chairs  of  the  Louis  XVI  period,  valued  at  eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  tapestries  worth  twenty-five  hun- 
dred dollars,  a  Buhl  clock,  two  hundred  years  old,  which  was 
secured  from  a  private  collection  and  many  famous  and  costly 
oil  paintings,  obtained  from  some  of  the  wealthiest  homes  in 
Southern  California.  If  one  of  these  tapestries  or  paintings 
were  only  slightly  damaged  in  the  handling,  the  property 
department  would  have  been  compelled  to  purchase  it  outright. 
For  a  single  setting  in  another  picture,  furnishings  and  prop- 
erties valued  at  twenty-seven  thousand  dollars,  were  rented. 
One  piece  was  a  small  ivory  figure,  fourteen  inches  high,  of 
some  famous  work  of  art,  valued  at  eleven  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars. 

In  this,  as  in  other  instances  noted,  the  research  depart- 
ment lends  valuable  aid  in  outlining  the  kind  of  furnishings 
or  properties  required,  to  be  in  keeping  with  certain  periods 
or  locales.  As  the  art  of  film  production  has  advanced,  au- 
.  diences  have  become  more  discriminating  and  now  demand 
realism  in  the  smallest  details.  A  few  years  ago,  many  fake 
props  and  makeshifts  were  used,  but  now  no  effort  or  expense 
is  spared  in  finding  the  genuine.  Where  they  used  to  furnish 
up  a  library  set  with  book  backs  nailed  to  a  board — only  a 
camouflaged  imitation — they  now  use  real  books  for  libraries, 
drawing  from  the  property  stock  of  something  like  twenty 
thousand  volumes.  And  to  look  through  that  collection  of 
books  is  a  treat.  They  contain  all  kinds  of  human  knowledge 
from  astronomy  to  practical  business  training  and  include 
every  kind  of  volume  from  a  Montgomery  and  Ward  cata- 
logue to  Socrates'  philosophy,  the  family  medical  adviser 
or  the  White  House  cook  book. 

The  model  property  room  contains  many  interesting  and 


PROPERTIES  63 

unique  features.  In  one  corner  of  the  one  investigated  for 
this  chapter,  is  a  complete  compartment  where  were  stored 
what  are  known  as  "hand  props."  There  are  to  be  found 
all  varieties  of  small  and  valuable  properties  ranging  from  a 
Chinese  violin  to  a  wooden  leg.  On  the  second  floor  is  a 
complete  arsenal,  containing  all  kinds  of  guns,  past  and  present. 
In  another  section  are  the  twenty  thousand  books  mentioned 
above.  Looking  about  elsewhere,  we  find  stored  enough 
labeled  liquor  bottles  of  different  varieties  to  make  a  saloon 
keeper's  collection  look  sick.  Then,  there  is  the  large  room 
devoted  to  the  drapery  department,  where  fancy  drapes  and 
materials  of  all  kinds  are  wrought  into  beautiful  hangings 
and  upholstery  by  skilled  experts  and  hung  on  the  settings. 
At  the  shipping  room,  several  trucks  are  kept  busy  every  day 
transporting  rented  props  to  and  from  the  studio.  In  an  ad- 
joining building  is  the  prop  making  shop,  where  skilled  me- 
chanics make  every  conceivable  property  and  effect  which 
the  property  men  are  unable  to  obtain  elsewhere.  This  de- 
partment is  of  singular  interest  and  will  be  discussed  in 
detail  in  the  next  succeeding  chapter. 


CHAPTER  IX 
PROPERTY  MAKING  AND  EFFECTS 

HE  Impossible  Department." 

Rather  a  strange  name,  perhaps,  for  one  of  the 
many  institutions  within  a  motion  picture  studio,  and 
yet,  a  name  which  fits  it  perfectly,  as  will  be  seen 
by  the  reader  as  he  becomes  more  intimately 
acquainted  with  it. 

This  unique  branch  of  film  production  activity,  where 
many  things  are  done  for  the  screen  which  makes  the  spec- 
tator in  the  theatre  exclaim,  "How  do  they  do  it?"  was  so 
christened  by  Cecil  B.  deMille,  noted  producer  when  escort- 
ing Eddie  Rickenbacker  through  the  Paramount  studio.  Upon 
reaching  a  large  shop  which  housed  this  department,  the 
following  conversation  ensued: 

"What  kind  of  a  department  do  you  call  this?"  asked 
Rickenbacker,  his  curiosity  aroused  by  many  strange  models, 
miniatures,  etc.,  hanging  from  the  ceiling  and  walls. 

"This  is  what  I  call  the  'impossible  department,' "  replied 
Mr.  deMille. 

"And  why  such  a  designation  as  that?"  questioned  the 
famous  Ace. 

"Because,"  replied  Mr.  deMille,  "their  business  is  to  do  the 
impossible.  Whenever  we  want  anything  for  a  picture,  any 
property  or  effect,  and  it  is  impossible  to  buy  it,  borrow  it  or 
secure  it  in  any  way  and  everybody  else  says  it  is  impossible 
to  make  it,  then  we  come  in  here  and  they  give  us  what  we 
want." 

Now  that  you  know  the  nickname  of  one  of  the  most 
unique  studio  branches  and  how  it  derived  that  name,  you 


PROPERTY  MAKING  AND  EFFECTS  65 

are  perhaps  curious,  as  was  Rickenbacker,  to  know  what 
kind  of  a  department  it  is. 

This  mechanical  shop  might  be  more  literally  described 
as  the  property  making  shop.  To  say  that  the  wizard  mechanic 
who  has  managed  this  shop  for  the  past  six  years  and  his 
staff  of  men  can  make  anything  under  the  sun  or  a  photo- 
graphic illusion  thereof,  is  not  so  much  an  exaggeration  as 
it  may  seem.  To  say  the  least,  their  record  is  clear — they 
have  never  known  failure  during  six  years  of  production 
activity,  but  have  ably  met  every  problem  that  has  confronted 
them. 

The  property  shop,  in  this  particular  instance,  is  housed 
in  a  large  corrugated  iron  building  and  is  equipped  with  a 
power  driven  band  saw,  jig  saw,  rip  and  cut-off  saw,  a  lathe 
and  an  infinite  variety  of  tools,  patterns  and  other  mechanical 
equipment. 

As  the  wizard  in  charge  explains,  however,  h!is  most 
effective  tool  in  this  work  is  common  sense  and  a  knowledge 
of  mechanical  principles  and  how  to  apply  them  to  almost 
any  problem  that  might  arise.  This  line  of  mechanical  work 
is  of  necessity  different  from  any  other  line  of  mechanical 
art.  It  cannot  be  learned  in  any  school  of  mechanics;  it  is 
not  confined  to  any  one  branch  of  mechanics,  it  embraces 
many. 

The  property  makers  practice  the  great  art  of  delusion. 
These  men  make  their  living  doing  things  which  fool  the 
public.  Never  were  there  more  expert  dyed-in-the-wool  de- 
ceivers. But  they  do  save  their  production  company  a  tre- 
mendous amount  of  money  which  would  otherwise  be  ex- 
pended in  construction  or  rental  of  the  real.  They  do  not, 
however,  rob  motion  pictures  of  their  realism.  Whenever  the 
real  can  be  secured  or  constructed  for  a  reasonable  outlay, 
it  is  utilized,  but  on  many  occasions,  when  it  is  impossible 
to  find  or  make  the  real,  these  mechanical  artists  and  their 
illusions  are  necessary. 

The  chief  mechanic  and  his  staff  are  always  accomplishing 
the  seemingly  impossible  and  accomplishing  same  in  the  short- 
est conceivable  space  of  time.  Their  orders  are  not  simply, 


66  PEN  TO 

"make  so  and  so  or  work  out  such  and  such  an  effect."  They 
include  a  limitation — "and  have  it  for  me  by  Saturday,"  or 
some  other  day  of  the  week  as  the  case  may  be. 

They  didn't  get  excited  when  a  director  came  in  one  day 
and  said,  "I  must  have  about  eight  big  canoes,  sixteen  or  eight- 
een feet  in  length,  to  hold  twelve  or  fourteen  people,  each  to 
be  used  in  lake  scenes  up  north.  Must  have  them  by  next 
Tuesday."  It  was  then  Thursday.  This  meant  about  three 
working  days  in  which  to  design  and  build  eight  unusually 
large  canoes  and  build  them  so  they  would  be  practical  and 
not  endanger  the  safety  of  the  twelve  or  fourteen  people 
who  were  to  cruise  in  each.  But  the  canoes  were  built  and 
turned  out  on  time.  In  this  instance,  the  property  mechanic 
and  his  staff  had  to  be  boatbuilders — a  very  difficult  specialty 
line  in  mechanics  and  construction. 

It  would  seem  impossible  to  the  layman  to  work  out  a 
large  snowstorm  effect,  with  a  carpet  of  snow  on  the  ground, 
and  icicles  hanging  from  the  eaves  of  houses  and  a  blizzard 
of  blinding  snow  driven  through  the  air  by  a  strong  gale,  and 
all  this  in  Southern  California,  where  the  thermometer  seldom 
reaches  the  freezing  point,  but  it  was  a  perfectly  feasible 
undertaking  for  the  mechanical  genius  who  happened  to  know 
the  tricks  of  the  trade  from  previous  experience.  His  carpet 
of  snow  on  the  ground  was  fine  salt,  which  was  also  heaped 
up  in  smooth  rifts,  in  crevices  and  corners.  His  icicles  were 
made  of  plaster  of  Paris,  his  strong  wind  was  provided  by  a 
large  wind  machine  at  one  end  of  the  street  set — a  huge 
airplane  propellor  revolved  at  a  high  rate  of  speed  by  a  power- 
ful motor — and  his  falling  snow,  blown  helter-skelter  by  the 
wind,  fine  flakes  of  asbestos  fed  from  a  box  above  the  machine 
and  directly  into  the  currents  of  air  emanating  therefrom. 
All  this  was  staged  in  the  heat  of  summer. 

It  might  seem  equally  impossible  to  one  not  versed  in  such 
matters,  to  make  a  rainstorm  on  a  perfectly  dry  day  in  the 
midst  of  Southern  California's  six  months'  dry  season.  But 
when  it  comes  to  making  rain  and  confining  it  to  a  certain 
area,  Mr.  Hatfield,  the  famous  rain  maker  has  nothing  on 
the  chief  property  mechanic.  While  the  former  confines 
his  downpour  to  perhaps  a  few  square  miles,  the  latter  cuts 


PROPERTY  MAKING  AND  EFFECTS  67 

it  down  to  a  few  square  yards — the  inside  of  the  camera  range. 
He  has  made  rainstorms  for  numerous  pictures  and  his  mech- 
anism consists  simply  of  a  long  sprinkler  pipe,  supported  at 
either  end  by  high  tripods.  The  pipe  is  closed  at  one  end 
and  to  the  other  end  is  attached  a  hose  with  a  strong  pressure 
of  water.  This  device  sets  a  few  feet  in  front  of  the  camera. 
Beside  the  camera  is  the  wind  machine  mentioned  above.  The 
falling  drops  of  water,  distributed  by  the  sprinkler  pipe  equally 
over  the  linear  section  before  the  camera,  are  blown  over  the 
entire  area  by  the  wind  currents  and  in  this  area  the  charac- 
ters enact  their  scenes. 

The  mechanical  department's  problems  often  involve  un- 
usually intricate  phases  because  of  the  peculiarities  of  photo- 
graphic values.  When  first  asked  to  prepare  a  fire  scene  for 
a  director,  this  mechanic-artist  discovered  that  the  natural 
flames  would  hardly  register  photographically.  He  then  added 
chemistry  to  his  store  of  mechanical  knowledge  and  in  a  short 
time  concocted  a  sort  of  acid,  which  when  put  on  structure  to 
be  burned,  caused  the  flames  to  be  white  or  very  light  in 
color,  with  good  actinic  value.  These  flames  photographed 
excellently. 

Again,  during  the  filming  of  another  picture,  he  was  asked 
to  prepare  an  effect  which  almost  anyone  would  at  first  con- 
cede impossible — to  make  a  fire  under  a  huge  cauldron  in  a 
French  cafe  setting — a  fire  which  wouldn't  be  hot,  because  the 
orchestra,  costumed  as  devils,  were  to  sit  in  the  cauldron. 
Undaunted  by  the  lack  of  suggestions  as  to  how  to  overcome 
such  a  difficulty,  the  chief  property  maker  set  about  his 
problem  and  soon  conceived  a  heatless  fire.  This  was  made 
up  of  a  large  number  of  irregular  strips  of  flame-colored  tissue 
paper,  which,  blown  upward  by  air  currents  from  concealed 
fans  and  lighted  by  concealed  lights,  made  most  realistic 
flames  in  the  eye  of  the  camera,  as  they  lapped  around  the 
bottom  of  the  cauldron. 

In  another  picture,  the  director  wished  to  make  a  comedy 
scene  in  which  the  chief  figure  of  the  picture,  in  desperation 
to  get  away  from  several  women  who  wished  to  marry  him, 
jumped  from  a  yacht  and  started  swimming  for  shore  several 
miles  away  and  swam  so  fast  that  he  passed  up  and  left  in 


68  PEN  To  SILVERSHEET 

his  wake  a  huge  fish  which  came  to  the  surface  to  give  him  a 
race  or  in  hopes  of  making  a  meal  of  some  part  of  his 
anatomy.  As  motion  pictures  haven't  yet  advanced  to  that 
stage  of  perfection  where  a  director  can  give  orders  to  a  large 
fish  and  expect  the  latter  to  execute  them  before  the  camera, 
the  problem  was  taken  up  with  the  property  wizard,  who  in 
a  few  days  prepared  a  mechanical  fish  which  filled  all  the 
requirements  to  perfection. 

Again,  a  director  wanted  a  mechanical  stork  who  would 
fly  into  a  scene,  land  on  a  chimney  top,  drop  a  baby,  which  he 
held  bundled  up  in  a  cloth  in  his  bill,  and  then  fly  out  of  the 
scene  again.  They  built  for  him  a  stork  which  answered  all 
requirements  and  which  was  a  mechanical  wonder  of  the  age, 
so  naturally  did  it  play  its  part  in  the  picture. 

When  a  director  wants  some  property  or  effect  for  a  pic- 
ture, he  doesn't  generally  have  many  suggestions  to  offer  as  to 
how  it  should  be  provided.  He  merely  tells  his  wants,  ex- 
plains the  nature  of  the  scenes  involved  and  leaves  it  to  the 
mechanics  to  figure  out  the  problem.  And  they  always  find 
a  way.  Whether  it  be  a  difficult  trick  explosion,  a  lightning 
or  electrical  storm  effect,  a  perfect  miniature  of  a  beautiful 
home,  the  Capitol  at  Washington,  the  Eiffel  tower  or  a  light- 
house on  a  rock-bound  coast,  they  always  deliver  the  goods. 
In  making  miniatures  of  all  kinds,  the  property  makers  work 
solely  from  photographs  of  the  originals,  getting  their  proper 
perspective  and  then  bringing  the  miniature  down  to  pro- 
portionate dimensions. 

The  property  shop  resembles  a  huge  toy  shop  and  would 
be  the  delight  of  any  young  boy  or  girl.  Miniatures  of  all 
kinds  hang  suspended  from  the  ceiling  and  walls.  Here  is 
a  perfect  toy  model  of  a  beautiful  dwelling,  complete  in  every 
detail;  there  is  a  complete  assortment  of  working  models  of 
ships  of  all  kinds  from  ocean  liners  and  submarines  to  sailing 
yawls.  In  another  corner  may  be  found  several  airplanes  of 
various  kinds.  Over  here  is  a  beautiful  model  of  a  bridge 
and  nearby  a  set  of  miniature  railroad  coaches  and  an  infinite 
variety  of  small  models  which  would  make  the  shop  look  like 
the  workshop  of  old  Santa  Claus  in  the  eyes  of  the  average 
youngster. 


PROPERTY  MAKING  AND  EFFECTS  69 

During  his  experience  in  the  studio,  one  chief  property 
maker  has  made  mechanical  flies,  bees  and  other  insects  and 
animals  and  recently  he  was  called  upon  to  prepare  huge  wings 
and  fasten  them  to  a  live  alligator  and  to  prepare  a  set  of  large 
tusks  and  fasten  them  in  his  mouth,  thus  converting  him  into  a 
hugh  flying  dragon,  a  fanciful  monster  which  was  used  in  a 
fantastic  scene  in  a  picture.  One  director  found  that  for  one 
of  his  pictures  he  would  need  several  hundred  guns  of  the 
type  such  as  used  by  the  Arab  horsemen.  As  it  was  impossible 
to  get  such  a  supply  of  these  guns  without  long  search  and 
delay  and  considerable  expense,  the  matter  was  taken  up  with 
the  "impossible"  department.  The  mechanics  obtained  a  photo- 
graph of  the  gun  from  a  travel  book  in  the  research  depart- 
ment and  within  a  week  had  a  supply  made  up.  And  the 
guns  so  nearly  resembled  the  real  that  only  close  inspection 
would  prove  the  fake.  Photographically,  the  illusion  was 
perfect. 

For  a  death  cell  scene  in  another  picture,  a  replica  of  the 
electric  chair  at  Sing  Sing  prison  was  needed,  among  other 
fittings  for  the  duplicate  setting.  Again,  with  a  photograph 
of  the  Sing  Sing  chair  of  death  as  his  guide,  the  property  wizard 
and  his  crew  prepared  an  exact  duplicate  in  a  few  days'  time. 
Of  course,  the  chair  wasn't  constructed  exactly  of  the  same 
materials  as  the  original,  but  in  the  eye  of  the  camera  it 
registered  exactly  the  same. 

Many  of  the  articles  prepared  in  this  shop,  however,  must 
be  practical  to  a  certain  degree.  During  the  war,  when  the 
many  pictures  with  the  war  as  a  background  were  being  pro- 
duced, on  several  occasions  prop  cannons  and  pieces  of  heavy 
artillery  had  to  be  constructed.  These  were  so  made  that 
charges  could  be  fired  from  them,  which  would  register  photo- 
graphically as  the  firing  of  big  shells.  The  charge,  made  up 
also  by  the  property  experts,  consisted  of  six  portions  of  powder 
with  a  cap  for  each  portion,  connected  with  a  wire,  which  in 
turn  connected  with  a  battery.  These  portions  were  numbered 
"1,"  "2,"  "3,"  etc.,  and  the  man  who  was  to  plunge  the  battery 
at  a  given  signal,  exploded  first  number  one,  then  two  and  so 
on.  During  the  production  of  war  pictures,  one  mechanical 


70  PEN  TO 

department  turned  out  over  seventy-five  big  pieces  of  prop 
artillery  of  various  calibers  and  designs. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  settings  ever  seen  in  a  picture 
was  one  known  as  "the  storeroom  of  Moloch,"  representing  the 
secret  war  room  of  the  Kaiser,  where  all  the  models  of  the 
various  war  devices  were  supposedly  stored  just  prior  to  the 
war.  This  setting  was  fully  equipped  with  models,  all  kinds  of 
war  engines,  airplanes,  Zeppelins,  bombs,  flame  throwers, 
mines,  gas  bombs,  etc.  Many  of  the  real  articles  with  which 
to  decorate  the  setting  were  secured  from  private  collections, 
but  many  of  them  had  to  be  made  up  from  photographs  by 
the  crew  of  property  makers.  These  imitations  photographed 
so  perfectly  that  it  was  impossible  for  the  spectator  to  dis- 
tinguish them  from  the  real. 

Other  interesting  properties  and  effects  devised  and  exe- 
cuted by  various  property  shops,  include  the  following: 

A  device  consisting  of  a  small  rubber  bag  and  connecting 
tube,  used  in  the  scenes  of  a  picture  where  an  aged  actor  sup- 
posedly slashes  his  wrist  and  the  blood  gushes  from  the  wound. 
The  rubber  bag  was  filled  with  prop  blood  and  placed  under 
the  actor's  arm.  The  tube  ran  down  his  sleeve  and  terminated 
at  the  spot  from  which  the  blood  was  to  issue.  In  the  close-up 
scene,  the  actor  merely  presses  the  bag  with  his  arm  and  the 
blood  gushes  from  the  end  of  the  tube,  giving  the  effect  of  a 
severed  artery  in  the  wrist. 

A  working  oil  well  gusher  used  in  a  picture  in  which  a 
small  oil  town  was  the  principal  locale.  A  regulation  sized 
derrick  was  erected  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  setting.  A 
pipe  line  ran  from  the  bottom  of  the  derrick  to  a  spot  outside 
the  camera  lines.  A  fire  engine  was  connected  up  with  the 
pipe  line  and  at  the  given  signal,  water  which  had  previously 
been  colored  black  so  that  it  would  photograph  like  oil,  was 
pumped  by  the  engine  through  the  pipe  line  with  considerable 
pressure  and  gushed  upward  in  the  derrick.  The  effect  was 
a  perfect  imitation  of  an  oil  gusher. 

Scenes  where  a  locomotive  engine  plows  through  a  snow- 
shed  on  a  mountain  curve.  A  miniature  engine  was  secured, 
mountain  scenery  was  constructed  and  camouflaged  at  a  curve 
in  the  miniature  line  track  and  several  tons  of  salt  and  asbestos 


PROPERTY  MAKING  AND  EFFECTS  71 

flakes  scattered  and  banked  up  on  the  track.  The  engine  is 
run  headlong  into  the  snowbank  and  after  two  or  three 
attempts,  plows  through  the  snow  and  continues  on  its  course. 
The  camera  was  set  close  enough  to  the  scene,  with  other 
scenery  in  proportionate  size,  so  that  the  engine  looked  the 
regulation  size  on  the  screen. 

Complete  prop  furnishings  for  the  island  scenes  in  a  ship- 
wreck episode  of  a  certain  picture.  These  included  roughly- 
built  chairs,  tables  and  other  furniture.  A  stone  still,  a  work- 
ing fire  signal  system  to  signal  any  passing  ships,  bamboo  cups, 
wooden  cutlery  and  many  other  things  that  would  be  worked 
out  by  the  ingenuity  of  man  if  placed  in  such  a  strait,  were 
made. 

Artificial  reproductions  of  desert  date  palm  trees,  used  in 
building  the  oasis  for  the  scenes  in  a  picture  much  of  which  is 
enacted  in  a  desert  locale,  and  a  prop  lake  in  this  oasis,  which 
was  made  by  laying  canvas  in  a  shallow  excavation  and  filling 
the  hollow  with  water. 

This  is  only  a  representative  smattering  of  the  many  thou- 
sands of  effects  and  devices  which  have  been  conceived  and 
executed  by  this  unique  department. 

"No  one  will  ever  know  all  there  is  to  know  about  motion 
picture  properties  and  effects,"  is  the  declaration  of  F.  S. 
Madigan,  one  of  the  most  skillful  property  makers  in  the  pro- 
fession, "because  there  is  something  new  arising  every  day — 
some  new  problem  to  be  solved.  After  several  years  in  the 
studio,  I  often  realize  that  I  am  only  a  beginner  in  the  work 
and  the  game  is  yet  very  new." 


CHAPTER  X 

CASTING  THE  CHARACTERS 

AVING  completed  an  insight  into  several  of  the 
preliminary  stages  of  motion  picture  production 
work,  we  are  now  ready  to  choose  the  players  who 
are  to  enact  the  various  roles  in  our  picture. 

This  is  the  work  of  the  casting  director,  who, 
because  of  the  responsibility  attached  to  his  position, 
is  one  of  the  principal  figures  in  importance  in  the  film  industry. 
To  visualize  the  type,  characteristics,  temperament   and 
physical  and  mental  qualities  of  the  conceived  characters  of 
the  story  and  to  determine  the  actors  or  actresses  who  can 
best  interpret  those  parts  upon  the  screen  and  secure  the  serv- 
ices of  those  actors  and  actresses,  is  his  extremely  trying  task, 
with  the  commencement  of  each  new  film  play. 

Such  a  task  may  not  seem  on  first  thought  to  be  so  difficult 
or  trying,  but  let  us  consider.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  an 
infinite  variety  of  characterizations  to  be  filled  in  any  large 
studio  where  several  unit  companies  are  being  cast  all  at  the 
same  time.  This  necessitates  a  rare  qualification.  The  casting 
director  must  be  a  keen  student  and  judge  of  human  nature 
and  human  character.  He  must  be  able  to  pick  types  who  look 
and  act  the  part  naturally.  If  the  story  calls  for  a  weakling, 
he  must  pick  a  man  with  a  weak  face.  If  the  story  calls  for 
a  suave,  heavy  or  an  East  Side  crook,  he  must  call  to  mind 
someone  on  his  list  whose  face  and  characteristics  convey 
such  an  impression. 

From  this  it  follows  that  the  casting  director  must  be  a 
man  of  long  experience  in  the  theatrical  and  motion  picture 
professions.  He  must  be  intimately  acquainted  with  the  type 
and  ability  of  a  good  majority  of  all  the  actors  and  actresses 


CASTING  THE  CHARACTERS  73 

on  the  stage  and  screen.  Such  a  knowledge  can  be  built  up 
only  by  years  of  association  with  stage  and  screen  talent  in  a 
professional  way. 

"For  a  point  of  general  information,"  says  one  of  the  most 
famous  screen  casting  directors,  "we  try  to  know  a  little  some- 
thing about  everybody  who  wears  a  make-up  from  stars  to  the 
cheapest  extra  people,  whether  we  contemplate  using  them  or 
not.  We  never  can  tell  when  we  will  need  just  such  a  character 
as  a  certain  person  might  be  best  fitted  for,  both  from  a  stand- 
point of  type  and  acting  ability  and  the  only  way  around  the 
problem  is  to  know  them  all,  or  as  many  as  possible." 

In  order  to  accomplish  this  colossal  aim,  the  casting  director 
finds  it  necessary  to  keep  constantly  in  touch  with  what  the 
players  are  doing,  by  seeing  their  work  on  the  screen.  This 
means  that  he  must  see  at  least  ten  or  twelve  pictures  every 
week — not  only  those  of  his  own  production  company,  but 
those  of  other  western  and  eastern  organizations  as  well. 
When  he  looks  at  a  picture,  he  takes  special  notice  of  the  work 
of  each  player  in  the  cast,  just  how  much  ability  he  manifests, 
what  possibilities  he  may  have,  how  he  photographs  and  for 
what  kind  of  parts  he  is  best  fitted.  When  a  well-known  actor 
or  actress  arrives  in  the  town  where  the  casting  director  is 
active,  he  ascertains  what  pictures  are  in  town,  if  any,  in 
which  he  or  she  plays  a  part,  and  then  arranges  to  see  those 
pictures.  If  possible,  he  sees  them  in  the  theatre,  as  the  opinion 
of  the  audience  is  always  valuable.  It  is  the  audience  whom  he 
is  trying  to  satisfy  in  casting  his  pictures. 

In  considering  a  player  for  a  part,  he  arranges  to  have  the 
director  of  the  proposed  picture  and  often  the  studio  manager 
or  supervising  director  sit  in  with  him  while  he  runs  a  reel  or 
two  showing  the  work  of  the  player  in  some  other  picture.  In 
matters  of  such  importance,  several  heads  are  better  than  one. 

In  casting  his  players,  the  sensible  casting  director  always 
tries  to  combine  type  with  the  ability  to  act.  In  fact,  if  it 
comes  to  an  absolute  showdown,  histrionic  ability  will  super- 
sede type,  because  the  good  actor  can  assume  expressions  other 
than  his  own,  but  the  type  without  ability  cannot  do  justice  to 
a  part.  The  ideal  combination  is  a  good  actor  who  is  also  the 
right  type  for  the  role.  This  important  official  cannot  afford  to 


74  PEN  TO  SILVERSHI&T 

take  a  man  with  little  or  no  ability  and  put  him  in  a  part  just 
because  he  is  a  correct  type.  Such  a  policy  would  lower  the 
standard  of  his  pictures  and  his  work. 

It  is  also  imperative  to  get  as  many  well-known  and  capable 
people  as  possible  in  a  cast.  The  unwise  producer  might  say, 
"The  star  is  popular — she  is  a  good  actress,  she  will  carry  the 
picture.  We  needn't  worry  about  the  other  players."  This 
is  a  very  poor  policy,  as  the  sensible  casting  director  knows. 
To  make  a  good  picture  it  is  necessary  to  have  every  charac- 
terization interpreted  by  a  good  actor  or  actress,  capable,  and  if 
possible,  famous. 

In  addition  to  selecting  and  employing  the  players  who  have 
already  achieved  fame  and  proven  their  ability,  the  casting 
director  is  constantly  on  the  lookout  for  new  talent.  When  he 
discovers  new  personalities — men  or  girls  who  show  signs  of 
latent  ability — he  puts  them  in  small  bits.  If  they  do  those 
well,  he  gives  them  small  parts  and  so  on  up  the  ladder  until 
they  have  established  their  respective  abilities  and  can  be 
entrusted  to  ably  execute  a  big  role.  It  is  necessary  to  keep 
the  new  material  coming  in  to  supplant  those  who  drop  out  or 
change  in  type  because  of  age  or  other  conditions.  Many  of 
the  famous  screen  players  of  today  are  discovered  and 
developed  right  at  the  studio,  without  previous  experience  in 
theatrical  work.  These  include  stars,  character  players  and 
leading  men  and  women. 

The  great  army  of  extra  people,  many  of  whom  depend 
upon  the  studios  for  the  wherewithal  for  their  daily  existence, 
is  another  interesting  phase  of  the  casting  director's  work. 
There  are  something  like  five  thousand  so-called  extras  in  Los 
Angeles  and  Hollywood.  The  percentage  of  these  that  climb 
to  the  top  and  achieve  success  is  about  one  in  every  five  hun- 
dred. The  great  majority  of  them  will  never  be  ranked  as 
anything  else  but  extras.  Not  a  day  passes  but  what  a  few 
new  people  make  their  appearance  in  the  offices  of  the  various 
casting  directors  and  make  known  their  desire  to  work  in 
motion  pictures. 

Nearly  every  extra  player  or  beginner  labors  under  the 
impression  that  he  or  she  can  easily  act.  They  do  not  fully 
realize  the  verity  that  acting  is  an  art  and  one  that  cannot  be 


CASTING  THE  CHARACTERS  75 

picked  up  over  night.  It  requires  study  and  work  and  faithful 
application,  just  the  same  as  music  or  painting  or  any  of  the 
kindred  arts.  The  desire  to  shine  as  a  professional  seems  to 
be  one  of  the  common  traits  of  humanity.  It  is  up  to  the 
casting  director  to  determine  just  which  ones,  out  of  the  great 
number,  have  latent  talent  or  possibilities. 

The  first  impression  which  this  executive  gets  of  a  new 
aspirant  counts  for  much.  Some,  he  can  take  one  look  at  and 
realize  that  they  have  not  one  chance  in  a  thousand  years  to 
succeed  as  an  actor  or  actress.  Others,  he  can  see  might 
perhaps  be  useful  as  types  and  he  catalogues  them  as  such. 
Others  show  promise  of  good  possibilities  for  several  kinds  of 
work — show  versatility  and  histrionic  ability.  Those  that  are 
given  an  opportunity,  he  keeps  in  mind  and  watches  closely. 
He  watches  them  work  on  the  set,  watches  their  work  on  the 
daily  "takes"  in  the  projection  room,  studies  their  abilities,  per- 
sonalities, etc. 

It  is  a  constant  process  of  elimination — taking  the  entire 
mass  and  eliminating  the  great  majority  who  are  unfitted, 
leaving  the  few  who  are  fitted.  He  cannot  afford  to  ignore 
them  all  and  be  content  with  the  talent  he  has.  New  faces  and 
personalities  must  be  found,  for  the  sake  of  variety  and  to 
replace  those  who  are  continually  dropping  out  or  changing  in 
type  or  ability. 

The  result  of  this  elimination  is  that  the  casting  director 
maintains,  at  all  times,  a  sort  of  reserve  of  about  a  hundred 
extra  people — boys,  girls,  men  and  women,  who  have  been 
tried  and  proven,  whom  he  knows  can  do  the  work,  who  have 
satisfied  the  directors  and  who  can  be  depended  upon.  This 
reserve,  of  course,  is  also  constantly  being  altered. 

"It  must  be  remembered,  however,"  encourages  one  of  the 
most  prominent  screen  casting  officials,  "that  the  motion  picture 
profession  is  much  the  same  as  any  other  in  regard  to  making 
the  most  of  opportunities.  It  is  the  person  with  ability  and 
initiative  who  gets  to  the  top  and  I  do  not  believe  it  is  an  exag- 
geration to  say  that  it  is  possible  to  'arrive'  in  less  time,  in 
motion  pictures,  than  in  any  other  professional  line.  The 
person  with  the  right  combination  of  qualities  generally  pops 
up  very  suddenly." 


76  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

The  average  casting  office  has  a  very  complete  set  of  files 
which  are  cross  indexed  and  double  indexed  to  save  time  and 
make  them  more  practicable.  For  every  principal,  free-lance 
and  extra  player,  there  is  a  big  card  with  figures  giving  his  or 
her  height,  weight  and  other  physical  data.  These  are  cross- 
indexed  into  files  of  types,  segregating  heavies,  juveniles,  char- 
acter people,  leading  women,  leading  men,  etc. 

The  casting  director  begins  his  work  of  selection  after  his 
first  conference  with  the  writer  of  the  story  or  scenario, 
wherein  he  obtains  a  definite  idea  of  the  story  and'  characters. 
He  then  goes  through  his  list  of  players  in  the  files.  He 
chooses  a  leading  man  and  if  the  latter  is  available,  puts  him 
down  for  the  part,  and  so  on  with  the  other  players.  When 
the  first  draft  of  the  scenario  is  finished,  the  casting  director 
receives  a  copy  and  proceeds  with  his  work  of  casting.  In  this 
he  confers  with  the  director,  the  supervising  director  and  pos- 
sibly the  studio  general  manager.  By  the  time  the  picture  is 
ready  to  start,  a  complete  cast  of  characters  has  been  assembled. 

There  is  humor  and  pathos  as  well  as  plenty  of  detail  in 
the  work  of  the  casting  director  and  his  engagement  depart- 
ment. People  come  with  a  thousand  and  one  reasons  why  they 
should  be  engaged  immediately.  They  bring  letters,  recom- 
mendations, scrap-books  and  so  on.  They  come  again  and 
again.  (Sometimes,  this  busy  individual  regrets  exceedingly 
that  it  is  impossible  to  give  certain  ones  work  because  he  has 
at  that  time  nothing  which  exactly  fits  them  or  their  type.  One 
of  the  most  poignant  tragedies  is  the  old  time  actor  or  actress 
who  is  down  and  out.  Sometimes  they  can  get  extra  work — 
quite  often  in  fact,  but  one  can  sense  the  sorrow  in  their  hearts 
as  they  watch  this  newer  form  of  the  dramatic  art  gaining 
ground  and  realize  that  they  were  born  a  generation  too  soon 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  Yet  the  films  have  been  a  boon  to  a 
good  many  of  these  people  who  might  otherwise  have  to  depend 
on  the  charity  of  the  most  charitable  group  in  the  world — the 
acting  profession. 

It  is  a  most  interesting  sight  to  watch  the  characters  who 
come  to  the  window  of  the  casting  director's  office  during  the 
course  of  the  average  day.  Old  men  and  young,  old  women, 
girls  in  their  teens,  tall,  short,  thin,  stout,  of  every  race  under 


CASTING  THE  CHARACTERS  77 

the  sun.  Some  older  men  with  flowing  beards  and  hair,  who 
are  fine  as  certain  types,  such  as  prospectors,  old  time  plains- 
men, miners  and  so  on.  The  barbers  have  suffered  by  the 
films — so  many  extra  people  let  their  hair  and  beards  grow  for 
business'  sakel 

The  casting  director  secures  many  of  his  extra  people  from 
outside  organizations  such  as  service  and  casting  bureaus  who 
have  great  numbers  of  all  types  listed  and  can  send  out  any 
number  of  desired  types  on  a  day's  notice. 

The  hiring  of  Chinese  to  play  extra  parts  in  the  films  is  an 
interesting  side-light.  There  is  one  man  in  Los  Angeles — a 
Chinese  interpreter,  who  controls  the  Chinese  extra  player 
situation.  He  is  an  American  born  but  spent  much  of  his  life 
in  China  and  speaks  the  language  and  knows  the  customs  of 
the  Orientals.  When  the  casting  director  wants  a  large 
number  of  Chinese  players  for  atmosphere  in  a  picture,  he 
applies  to  this  man,  who  brings  in  the  Chinese,  sees  that  they 
are  at  work  on  time,  is  responsible  for  their  reappearance  for 
duty  the  next  day  or  any  day  thereafter  that  they  are  needed, 
and  interprets  to  them  the  orders  of  the  director  of  the  picture 
on  the  setting. 


CHAPTER  XI 
SCREEN  MAKE-UP 

AKE-UP,  or  the  art  of  making  up  for  the  screen,  while 
it  cannot  be  included  as  one  of  the  cogs  of  our  pro- 
duction machine,  is  nevertheless  one  of  the  major 
incidental  arts,  vital  and  necessary  to  the  making  of 
motion  pictures  and  is  thus  one  of  the  points  of  inter- 
est in  our  journey  from  Pen  to  Silversheet.    Also,  it 
falls  in  naturally  with  the  theme  of  our  discourse,  for  after  the 
player  is  cast  for  the  role,  he  must  first  make-up  before  he  can 
play  his  part. 

Many  are  perhaps  of  the  impression  that  make-up  is  a  very 
simple  art  and  involves  merely  the  application  of  a  little  grease- 
paint on  the  face  of  the  actor  or  actress.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
is  a  very  intricate  art  and  one  which  requires  much  patience, 
study  and  practice  before  it  can  be  successfully  and  thoroughly 
mastered. 

There  are  two  different  broad  divisions  of  screen  make-up. 
These  are  straight  make-up  and  character  make-up.  The 
straight  make-up  is  the  one  worn  by  the  player  who  merely 
covers  his  own  complexion  with  a  ground-tone  of  grease  paint 
and  lines  his  eyes  and  eyebrows,  and  tones  up  his  lips  with  a 
little  rouge.  This  will  be  more  thoroughly  covered  in  the 
ensuing  discussion  of  the  character  make-up,  which  is  much 
more  intricate  and  involves  all  the  various  phases  of  the 
make-up  art. 

The  screen  aspirant  who  looks  himself  over  in  the  mirror 
and  decides  that  because  he  is  not  handsome  enough  to  be  a 
star  or  heroic  enough  to  be  a  leading  man,  he  will  be  a  charac- 
ter actor,  does  not  realize  perhaps  that  that  field  of  work,  while 


MAKE-UP  79 

not  the  most  lucrative,  is  often  said  to  be  the  most  difficult  of 
all  branches — for  he  must  master  the  art  of  character  make-up. 

A  well-known  screen  character  actor  has  observed  that  the 
art  of  character  make-up — far  from  being  simply  a  knowledge 
of  how  to  make  up  one's  face — is  divided  into  three  separate 
and  distinct  branches.  These  are  FACIAL  make-up, 
PHYSICAL  make-up  and  MENTAL  make-up.  By  a  knowl- 
edge of  these  subjects,  the  character  artist  must  often  change 
his  entire  physiognomy  and  personality  to  suit  the  role  for 
which  he  has  been  cast.  The  actor  in  question  has  become  so 
versatile  with  his  make-up  ability  that  this  has  actually  become 
a  damper  on  his  fame,  because  of  the  fact  that  so  different  does 
he  appear  in  his  many  and  varied  characterizations  that  screen 
audiences  find  it  hard  to  recognize  him  as  the  same  actor  who 
has  played  some  of  his  former  parts. 

The  essential  foundation  for  all  facial  make-up  is  the  grease 
paint.  This  is  first  applied  evenly  over  the  face  and  this  first 
application  is  known  as  the  "ground  tone."  If  this  tone 
becomes  spotted  or  marred,  it  cannot  be  patched  up,  but  must 
be  completely  removed  and  a  new  coat  applied.  If  the  subject 
has  a  pink  or  ruddy  complexion,  pink  grease  paint  is  used,  and 
if  the  complexion  is  brunette  or  sallow,  a  yellow  tone  is  applied. 
This  is  because  the  make-up  must  harmonize  with  the  com- 
plexion because  if  a  contrasting  color  is  used,  the  camera  will 
register  spots  on  the  complexion  where  the  make-up  is  thin  and 
the  skin  shows  through. 

The  basic  principle  of  character  facial  make-up  is  the  prin- 
ciple of  high  lights  and  low  lights.  Certain  colors,  such  as  red, 
brown,  black,  dark  grey,  orange,  purple,  etc.,  register  photo- 
graphically as  shadows  and  thus  when  applied  in  the  proper 
manner,  can  be  used  to  accentuate  wrinkles,  make  sunken 
cheeks  or  other  like  effects.  These  colors,  when  applied,  are 
known  as  "low  lights."  It  has  often  been  asked  why  screen 
actors  and  actresses,  unlike  those  on  the  legitimate  stage,  use 
no  rouge  on  their  cheeks  in  their  make-up.  This  is  because 
the  rouge  would  photograph  dark  and  register  as  a  shadow, 
causing  the  handsome  leading  man  or  pretty  ingenue  to  look 
thin  and  emaciated  in  the  face. 

The  opposite  effect  to  the  low  light  is  the  "high  light."  Any 


80  PEN  TO 

light  color,  such  as  white,  light  grey,  light  blue,  etc.,  is  a  high 
light  and  is  used  for  a  purpose  directly  opposite  from  that  for 
which  the  low  light  is  used.  The  high  light  color,  photo- 
graphically, produces  a  convex  or  outstanding  effect.  A  low 
light  is  generally  edged  with  a  high  light  color  to  further  accen- 
tuate the  low  light,  and  vice  versa.  This  important  principle 
is  applied  in  making  up  wrinkles,  sunken  cheeks,  lines,  scars, 
sagging  skin,  overhanging  eyebrows,  sunken  eye  sockets,  etc. 
The  wrinkle  is  made  by  a  line  of  low  light  color,  edged  on  one 
side  with  a  faint  line  of  high  light.  The  red  low  light  is  of 
inestimable  value  to  the  actress  who,  as  the  years  go  by,  devel- 
ops the  fatal  double  chin.  The  red  streak  of  rouge  throws  the 
invisible  mantle  over  this  drawback  to  screen  beauty. 

The  make-up  scar  is  produced  in  a  way  directly  opposite 
from  the  method  used  in  making  up  a  wrinkle.  The  scar  is  a 
high  light  color,  lined  or  set  off  with  a  low  light  color.  For 
freckles,  little  daubs  of  brown  grease  paint  are  used. 

An  important  point  to  be  remembered  is  that  make-up  is 
chiefly  an  accentuating  agent.  When  the  character  actor  makes 
up  wrinkles  or  other  facial  lines,  he  should  first  assume  the 
expression  of  the  character  and  then  accentuate  lines  natural 
to  that  expression  and  should  never  make  wrinkles  or  lines 
where  they  do  not  naturally  occur. 

The  good  make-up  artist  must  also  be  familiar  with  the 
many  varieties  of  wigs,  beards,  moustaches,  false  teeth,  etc., 
and  must  know  for  which  kind  of  character  type  each  is  best 
fitted. 

There  are  also  many  artificial  effects  in  make-up  such  as 
the  pulling  of  certain  muscles  by  attaching  strings  to  the 
muscle  by  the  use  of  putty  and  then  tying  the  strings  and  pull- 
ing the  muscles  until  the  desired  effect  is  obtained.  This 
method  is  often  used  in  the  Chinese  make-up,  when  the  eyes 
are  pulled  back  at  the  corners,  making  them  resemble  the  eyes 
of  a  Chinaman.  Putty  is  also  employed  in  making  enlarged  or 
crooked  character  noses.  Enlarged  pores  are  made  in  the  putty 
nose  by  sticking  little  indentations  therein  with  the  point  of  a 
scissors.  The  putty  nose  is  then  made  up  just  like  the  rest 
of  the  face,  with  grease  paint,  etc. 

After  completing  his  facial  make-up,  the  character  artist 


SCREEN  MAKE-UP  81 

must  look  to  what  we  have  already  termed,  his  physical  make- 
up. He  must  be  sure  that  his  wardrobe  is  right,  for  his  ward- 
robe, after  all,  is  a  part  of  his  make-up.  If  he  is  playing  a 
tramp,  he  must  be  sure  his  clothes  look  old  and  ragged  and  if 
they  are  in  too  good  a  state  of  preservation,  he  must  take  a 
file  and  make  a  few  frayed  spots  or  ragged  edges  in  the  mate- 
rial. He  might  also  use  a  little  soap  or  Fuller's  earth  to  give 
the  proper  effects  of  grime  and  age. 

Physical  make-up,  however,  also  includes  the  assumption 
by  the  actor  and  the  physical  expression,  of  all  the  proper  man- 
nerisms and  physical  conditions  characteristic  of  the  role  he 
is  portraying.  If  the  character  is  awkward  in  his  movements, 
the  actor  must  also  remember  to  be  awkward  in  every  scene  in 
which  he  appears  before  the  camera.  If  the  character  has  a 
wooden  leg  or  an  artificial  hand,  the  actor  must  make  up  his 
hand  or  his  limb  so  that  such  an  impression  is  conveyed  to  the 
audience.  A  certain  well-known  character  actor  once  per- 
formed a  perfect  feat  of  character  make-up  art  by  making  his 
own  perfectly  good  hand  look  exactly  like  an  artificial  hand. 
Many  pictures  have  been  seen  in  which  the  actors  have  been 
photographed  in  various  difficult  physical  make-ups,  and  one, 
in  particular,  will  be  remembered  by  many,  in  which  the  char- 
acter player  was  made  up  so  that  he  most  strikingly  resembled 
a  huge  ape.  In  some  of  these  most  difficult  make-ups  the  serv- 
ices of  a  professional  make-up  expert  are  required. 

By  mental  make-up  is  meant  the  mental  state  of  the  actor 
when  playing  a  character  part.  It  can  easily  be  seen  how  it  is 
most  necessary  that  the  actor  strive  to  be,  in  thought,  as  well 
as  physically,  as  nearly  like  the  character  he  portrays  as  pos- 
sible. This  makes  for  sincerity  and  promotes  a  more  faithful 
interpretation  of  the  role.  The  correct  mental  attitude  is  a 
keynote  to  a  perfect  character  portrayal.  It  has  been  said  that 
a  person's  face  and  physique  are  only  an  outward  expression 
of  his  mentality.  Therefore,  if  the  actor  keeps  the  right  men- 
tal attitude  during  his  work,  the  physical  part  of  him  will  con- 
form. If,  for  instance,  he  doesn't  lose  sight,  for  a  moment,  of 
the  fact  that  for  the  time  being,  he  is  an  awkward,  ungainly, 
bowlegged  cowpuncher,  his  physical  actions  will  more  readily 
respond  to  this  condition  of  thought.  Or,  if  he  will  keep  in 


82  PEN  TO  SlLVERSHEET 

mind  continually  that  he  is  impersonating  a  county  judge  or  a 
military  officer,  the  natural  dignity  characteristic  of  such  char- 
acters will  be  reflected  in  his  every  physical  move  and  expres- 
sion. This  will  apply  to  any  kind  of  characterization  he  may 
interpret. 

One  noted  stock  character  actor,  who  once  played  six  dif- 
ferent characterizations  all  in  one  week,  in  six  different  pic- 
tures, confided  that  one  of  the  secrets  of  his  success  as  a  make- 
up artist  is  the  fact  that  he  has  in  mind  an  actual  model  for 
nearly  every  character  he  portrays. 

"I  never  fail  to  carefully  observe  any  odd  or  striking  char- 
acter whom  I  chance  to  see  on  the  street  or  outside  my  studio 
work,"  he  explained.  "I  have  a  mental  list  of  characters  upon 
which  I  draw  when  in  need  of  inspiration  for  some  role.  When 
I  see  an  unusual  character,  I  watch  his  actions,  engage  him  in 
conversation,  possibly,  observe  his  gestures,  his  mannerisms, 
his  outstanding  features,  even  his  inward  character,  and  tem- 
perament, if  possible,  then  store  him  up  for  future  reference. 
I  once  studied  a  half-wit  newsboy  uptown  and  it  wasn't  a 
week  before  I  was  called  upon  to  play  a  half-wit  in  a  picture. 
I  had  my  model  and  was  well  prepared  and  experienced  no 
difficulty  in  making  up  and  playing  the  part.  When  I  can  think 
of  no  model  to  fit  an  important  character  role,  I  have  often 
gone  down  on  the  streets  and  kept  my  eyes  open  until  one  has 
come  under  my  observation.  In  case  the  character  is  an  ancient 
or  obsolete  one,  I  look  him  up  in  books,  read  about  him  or  his 
kind  and  get  a  picture  of  him  if  possible." 

Thus,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  art  of  make-up,  in  all  its 
ramifications,  is  an  intricate  one,  which  requires  much  study, 
observation  and  natural  talent  and  constant  application  on  the 
part  of  the  actor,  to  the  perfection  of  his  art. 


CHAPTER  XII 
HUNTING  LOCATIONS 

N  location !" 

That  is  a  familiar  expression  around  a  motion 
picture  studio.  When  a  company  is  on  location,  it  is 
operating  at  some  site  away  from  the  studio,  perhaps 
only  around  the  corner  at  a  building  entrance,  perhaps 
at  the  veranda  of  some  palatial  home  in  the  suburbs  or 
the  gardens  of  some  country  estate,  or  again  perhaps  on  the 
desert  or  in  the  mountains  hundreds  of  miles  away.  Hardly 
ever  is  a  picture  produced  in  which  all  the  scenes  are  made  at 
the  studio.  Generally  many  natural  backgrounds  are  included. 

But  a  company  does  not  simply  pack  up  and  start  for  a 
location  without  any  preparation.  The  way  must  be  paved  for 
it.  The  location  must  be  searched  out  and  found  and  arrange- 
ments made  for  its  use,  in  case  it  is  private  property. 

Thus,  one  of  the  big  tasks  in  the  production  of  a  picture  is 
to  find  and  when  necessary,  obtain  permission  to  use,  such 
exteriors  as  will  exactly  fit  the  technical  and  dramatic  require- 
ments of  the  story. 

To  expedite  this  phase  of  the  work,  relieve  the  director  of 
the  burden  of  searching  out  these  backgrounds,  as  was  formerly 
the  case,  and  to  build  up  a  system  of  records  by  means  of  which 
these  sites  or  structures  may  be  easily  located  again,  once  they 
have  been  found  and  used,  the  majority  of  the  larger  studios 
have  made  a  special  provision  for  a  department  for  this  pur- 
pose, appointing  what  is  known  as  a  "location  director"  to 
handle  all  of  this  work. 

The  location  director  must  possess  several  very  important 
qualifications  in  order  to  be  able  efficiently  to  execute  this  part 
of  the  work  of  film  production.  In  the  first  place,  he  must 


84  PEN  TO 

know  the  country  within  a  radius  of  several  hundred  miles 
around  the  district  where  the  studio  is  located  and  be  thor- 
oughly acquainted  with  the  various  natural  geographical  condi- 
tions so  that  he  may  know  in  which  direction  to  travel  in  order 
to  search  for  any  desired  location  or  setting.  His  job  is  one 
that  cannot  be  held  by  an  amateur  as  it  is  only  by  experience 
that  he  can  build  up  such  a  fund  of  knowledge.  Good  location 
directors  are  very  scarce  because  it  is  only  those  who  have 
grown  up  with  the  job  from  its  very  institution  who  have  so 
acquainted  themselves  with  the  exterior  field  as  to  be  in  a 
position  to  efficiently  handle  such  a  post. 

He  must  be  a  man  of  keen  observation  and  good  memory, 
because  one  of  the  secrets  of  his  efficiency  is  his  ability  to 
keep  ahead  of  the  game,  as  it  were,  by  observing  and  taking 
note,  during  his  travels,  of  sites  which  might  perhaps  be 
valuable  as  locations  at  some  future  time  and  later,  when 
such  sites  are  needed,  to  be  able  to  find  them  quickly  by 
reference  to  his  records. 

He  must  be  a  man  of  tact  and  diplomacy  in  order  that 
he  might  overcome  in  many  cases,  the  objections  which  will 
be  raised  by  owners  or  landlords  of  private  properties  against 
the  use  by  motion  picture  companies  of  such  properties.  Since 
the  beginning  of  the  motion  picture  industry,  there  have  been 
many  independent  small  companies  which  have  been  formed 
perhaps  for  the  production  of  only  one  picture.  In  many 
cases,  the  directors  of  these  companies,  having  no  future 
reputation  to  consider,  have  been  negligent  in  their  care  of 
location  property  and  have  left  it  in  a  damaged  condition 
after  finishing  their  scenes.  This  has  been  resented  by  property 
owners  generally,  many  of  whom  have  judged  the  majority  by 
the  few  and  have  flatly  refused  to  allow  any  other  motion 
picture  companies  to  operate  upon  their  premises  on  subsequent 
occasions,  despite  the  offers  of  the  latter  to  pay  liberally  and 
to  leave  the  property  in  the  same  condition  in  which  it  was 
found. 

It  has  been  the  task  of  location  directors  of  large  com- 
panies to  overcome  this  prejudice  on  the  part  of  the  property 
owners  and  to  obtain  permission  to  use  the  sites.  In  doing 
this,  he  must  sometimes  work  in  a  round-about  way,  gaining 


HUNTING  LOCATIONS  85 

the  permission  either  through  other  influences  or  by  convincing 
the  property  owner  of  the  reputation  of  the  company  which ' 
is  behind  him,  for  good,  clean  business.  In  this,  his  personality 
plays  an  important  role,  and  when  the  company  goes  to  film 
its  !scenes,  he  often  goes  along,  in  case  private  property  is 
being  used,  to  personally  watch  and  see  that  his  promises  are 
kept  by  the  production  company.  The  good  location  director 
considers  his  standing  with  property  owners  his  most  valu- 
able asset  and  never  breaks  faith. 

Locations  are  absolutely  essential  to  motion  picture  work 
and  by  their  use,  millions  of  dollars  are  saved  annually,  which 
would  otherwise  have  to  be  expended  in  the  construction  of 
elaborate  exterior  settings,  many  of  which  would  be  used  per- 
haps for  only  a  few  scenes. 

The  location  director  also  encounters  some  very  difficult 
problems  in  his  search  for  natural  geographical  locations. 
When  the  scenario  is  finished,  he  takes  a  copy  of  the  script 
and  makes  a  list  of  the  locations  which  he  sees  will  be  needed 
and  their  specifications  as  laid  out  in  the  story.  He  then  sets 
about  finding  these  locations.  Sometimes  he  must  get  in  his 
car  and  travel  hundreds  of  miles  for  a  desert  or  ocean  or 
mountain  scene.  He  might  find  hundreds  of  such  scenes,  each 
of  which  might  be  just  a  bit  off-color.  He  must  continue  his 
search  until  he  finds  a  site  which  exactly  fits  or  one  which, 
by  the  aid  of  technical  alterations,  can  be  made  suitable.  There 
is  no  alternative  but  to  find  it  and  he  must  keep  up  the  search 
until  he  does  find  it.  He  always  works  with  the  assumption 
that  the  very  thing  he  needs  exists  and  can  be  found,  and 
the  good  location  director  always  finds  it.  Nor  does  he  have 
weeks  and  months  in  which  to  search.  He  must  very  often  find 
the  site  within  a  specified  time,  which  is  often  limited  to  a 
few  days.  Otherwise,  production  will  be  held  up. 

According  to  one  of  the  oldest  location  directors  in  the 
profession,  in  the  matter  of  experience,  a  policy  of  his  com- 
pany, while  often  gaining  for  him  the  permission  of  the  land- 
lord or  owner  where  all  other  means  would  have  failed,  is 
one  which  at  the  same  time  has  made  it  possible  for  the  studio 
to  have  been  a  very  valuable  contributor  to  charity  during 
the  past  few  years.  Many  of  the  beautiful  homes,  gardens  and 


86  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

estates  which  the  location  director  seeks  to  rent  as  settings 
for  scenes  in  his  pictures,  are  owned  by  wealthy  people  who 
would  not  for  a  moment  be  persuaded  by  a  money  considera- 
tion to  allow  their  property  to  be  used.  Philanthropy,  how- 
ever, is  one  of  the  hobbies  of  most  wealthy  people,  and  when 
they  are  told  that  the  rental  derived  from  the  use  of  the 
property  is  to  be  turned  directly  over  to  some  charity,  they 
are  generally  more  willing  to  concede  to  the  request  of  the 
location  director.  Thousands  and  thousands  of  dollars  have 
been  turned  over  to  charity  during  a  few  years  through  this 
medium.  One  instance  is  of  a  Los  Angeles  millionaire  who 
always  gives  the  rental  obtained  from  motion  picture  companies 
for  the  use  of  his  yacht  in  film  scenes,  to  the  Sisters'  Hospital 
in  Los  Angeles.  One  of  the  companies  used  the  Boyle  Heights 
Orphans'  Home  at  one  time  and  although  the  Sisters  demanded 
no  rental,  the  company  presented  them  with  a  check  for  five 
hundred  dollars  to  be  added  to  the  Orphans'  fund. 

The  location  director  has  saved  the  company  thousands 
of  dollars  by  finding  suitable  locations  when  otherwise  settings 
would  have  had  to  be  built.  On  one  occasion,  the  company 
assumed  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  a  home  that  would 
exactly  suit  their  needs  because  of  the  peculiar  requirements  of 
the  story  and  were  on  the  point  of  going  ahead  and  begin- 
ning the  construction  of  an  exterior  which  it  was  planned 
would  cost  about  eight  thousand  dollars.  The  location  director, 
however,  insisted  upon  making  a  search  and  was  told  to  go 
ahead.  He  found,  after  some  effort,  an  exterior  which  was 
exactly  what  was  wanted.  Permission  was  gained  to  use 
this  for  one  hundred  dollars.  This  is  only  one  case  out  of 
many  wherein  the  location  director  has  saved  the  company 
large  sums  of  money. 

During  a  period  of  four  months,  one  prominent  location 
director  found  and  obtained  permission  to  use  sixty-eight 
major  locations.  This  did  not  include  hundreds  of  smaller 
backgrounds  which  were  either  already  on  file  or  were  ob- 
tained without  any  difficulty.  In  San  Francisco,  the  same 
director  once  obtained  permission  from  the  government  to 
take  a  shot  from  Fort  Scott,  also  to  film  scenes  aboard  the 
quarantine  boat. 


HUNTING  LOCATIONS  87 

During  his  experience,  this  particular  location  man  has 
traveled  on  an  average  of  fifteen  thousand  miles  per  year 
looking  for  location  sites.  He  declares  that  the  hardest  loca- 
tions to  find  are  those  which  must  match  up  with  some  back- 
ground in  which  action  has  already  been  filmed  in  or  outside 
the  studio.  They  must  have  certain  specifications  which  must 
exactly  match  with  this  previous  scene. 

The  system  of  filing  in  use  by  leading  location  directors, 
is  pictorial,  containing  pictures  of  every  location  which  has 
ever  been  filmed  and  many  of  which  have  never  been  filmed, 
with  information  on  the  back  of  each  picture  as  to  where  the 
site  is  located,  when  it  was  filmed,  how  much  it  can  be  rented 
for,  etc.  There  is  a  key  index  to  this  file,  entitled,  "INDEX 
TO  THE  LOCATION  PHOTOGRAPH  FILE."  The  main 
heads  of  this  index  are:  "Automobiles,"  "Big  Buildings," 
"Desert  Scenes,"  "Homes  and  Estates,"  "Homes — Ordinary 
and  Poor,"  "Hotels  and  Apartments,"  "Mountain  Scenery," 
"Rural  Scenery,"  "Railroad,"  "Small  Towns,"  "Water  Scenes/' 
Under  each  one  of  these  principal  heads  are  from  ten  to  fifteen 
subheads,  each  numbered,  with  a  number  corresponding  to 
that  on  the  envelope  file  containing  the  pictures.  For  instance, 
under  "Automobiles,"  the  subheads  are:  "1 — Busses,"  "2 — 
Closed  Cars,"  "3— Foreign  Cars,"  "4— Open  Cars,"  "5— Taxi- 
cabs,"  and  under  "Hotels  and  Apartments,"  we  find  the  fol- 
lowing: "1 — Entrances,"  "2 — Fashionable  Hotels  and  Apart- 
ments," "3 — Fire  Escapes,"  "A — Ordinary  Hotels  and  Apart- 
ments," "5— Roofs,"  "6— Seaside  Hotels  (See  Water  Scenes)." 
By  means  of  this  file,  anyone  can  easily  locate  the  picture  and 
find  all  necessary  information  about  the  site. 

Location  directors  are  unanimous  in  their  belief  that  South- 
ern California  is  perhaps  the  most  ideal  spot  in  the  world  for 
motion  picture  locations  and  sites,  because  natural  scenery 
typical  of  almost  any  part  of  the  world  can  be  found  there. 

Let  us  pause  for  a  moment  in  our  journey  from  Pen  to 
Silversheet  and  observe,  as  an  interesting  sidelight,  one  of 
the  large  location  encampments  of  a  big  company  which  has 
gone  toj  a  distant  spot  for  several  days  to  film  exterior 
scenes  and  see  the  manner  in  which  it  is  conducted  and  how 
the  studio  folk  live  while  on  location. 


88  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

The  site  is  about  a  three-hour  drive  from  the  mother 
studio  in  Hollywood  and  there  we  find  the  prettiest  little 
imitation  of  a  piece  of  the  Old  Sahara  that  was  ever  created 
by  Nature  and  touched  up  and  camouflaged  by  the  ingenuity 
of  man.  This  was  the  desert  site  used  for  the  Sahara  scenes 
in  George  Melford's  production  for  Paramount,  "The  Sheik." 

At  this  point,  the  beach  extends  back  from  the  ocean  for 
about  two  miles  and  the  fine  white  sand  is  in  rifts  or  dunes. 
Here  and  there  is  a  bald  mound  of  sand,  and  between  the 
rifts  or  mounds,  are  smooth,  barren  valleys.  A  few  patches 
of  typical  desert  vegetation  dot  the  landscape.  To  the  prac- 
ticed eye  of  the  location  director,  this  was  an  ideal  spot  for 
scenes  depicting  the  Sahara  desert. 

The  principal  thing  that  this  desert  lacked  was  an  oasis, 
so  the  studio  mechanical  artists  made  up  a  large  bunch  of 
date  palm  trees  from  fine  strips  of  lumber,  canvas  and  brown 
paint  and  set  them  up  in  an  appropriate  spot,  then  finished 
the  job  with  a  bountiful  supply  of  oasis  vegetation.  Within 
five  days  a  beautiful  oasis  stood  where  before  all  was  barren 
sand. 

Two  hundred  people  departed  from  the  studio  in  large 
sightseeing  automobiles  for  the  journey  to  this  little  Sahara. 
These  included  director,  assistants,  cameramen,  principal 
players,  extras,  Arab  riders  and  their  horses  and  two  special 
technical  experts  on  Arabia  and  the  Orient. 

Work  began  next  day,  after  camp  had  been  set  up.  Often 
the  set-up  for  a  scene  would  cover  many  acres  of  ground  and 
the  director,  unable  to  make  himself  heard  through  the  mega- 
phone, was  compelled  to  ride  about  on  a  horse  among  the 
furthermost  players  and  give  his  instructions  or  relay  them  out 
to  assistants  who  were  concealed  from  the  camera  lens.  Near 
the  camera  stood  the  bugler,  who  signalled  the  players  back 
to  formation  after  the  completion  of  a  "shot." 

Now  we  see  a  late  afternoon  set-up  of  the  Arab  clan  of 
horsemen,  dismounted  and  standing  in  formation  for  prayer, 
led  by  a  bearded  old  Arab.  We  turn  our  gaze  from  this  color- 
ful sight  and  over  in  the  oasis  see  about  seventy-five  girls. 
Some  are  beautiful,  some  plain.  There  are  types  of  all  kinds — 
harem  girls,  slave  girls,  market  women,  old  hags,  youngsters. 


HUNTING  LOCATIONS  89 

Some  are  beautifully  costumed  in  silks  and  laces,  others  are 
dressed  in  rags  and  loud-colored  coarser  materials.  All  are 
covered  from  head  to  foot  with  the  much  detested  yellow  ochre, 
a  make-up  wash  which  under  the  eye  of  the  camera,  gives 
them  all  the  sunburnt  hue  of  the  people  of  the  tropics. 

Looking  in  another  direction,  we  see  a  couple  of  property 
men  come  out  bearing  a  huge  skeleton  of  a  camel  and  place 
in  on  the  desert  in  the  camera  range,  for  the  sake  of  atmos- 
phere. This  skeleton,  we  learn,  has  been  made  up  in  the 
studio  property  shop.  There  are  several  others  on  hand,  if 
needed. 

The  system  under  which  the  camp  was  conducted  and 
the  magnitude  of  the  task  of  camping,  feeding  and  providing 
quarters  for  the  three  hundred  people  was  impressive.  Every- 
thing was  done  in  an  orderly,  systematic  way.  There  were 
army  cots  for  everyone  present.  The  horsemen  were  assigned 
several  to  each  large  tent  and  the  girls  were  housed  two  each  in 
small  tents.  There  was  a  large  cook  tent  where  several  cooks 
were  constantly  employed,  preparing  food.  Another  tent  was 
the  storehouse  for  quantities  of  foodstuffs  of  all  kinds  and  still 
another  contained  the  large  hampers  for  a  supply  of  costumes 
and  wardrobe.  Two  men  were  assigned  to  check  these  cos- 
tumes in  and  out  for  each  day's  work.  There  were  two  large 
dining  tents  and  two  mess  calls  for  each  tent.  At  one  end 
of  the  camp  street  was  a  concession  where  soft  drinks,  ciga- 
rettes and  candy  could  be  bought.  Over  near  another  tent 
was  a  small  camera  dark  room,  where  the  cameramen  could 
load  and  unload  their  film.  Water  for  the  camp  was  shipped 
in  large  tanks  mounted  on  motor  trucks.  Near  the  "chow" 
tent  was  the  camp  post  office,  consisting  of  two  boxes  nailed 
to  a  tree — one  marked  "incoming"  and  the  other  "outgoing" 
mail.  Before  and  after  "shooting"  hours  when  girls,  women 
and  Arab  horsemen  were  strolling  about  the  camp,  laughing, 
talking  and  engaged  in  various  little  diversions,  the  place 
resembled  a  gay,  colorful  carnival. 

At  six  A.  M.  every  morning,  all  arose  to  the  reveille  and 
dressed  for  breakfast.  In  a  few  moments,  the  camp  was  a  bee- 
hive of  activity.  Everyone  scurried  about,  washing  his  face 
in  a  pan  or  bowl,  going  for  water,  making  impromptu  toilets 


90  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

before  pieces  of  mirror  hung  in  convenient  places  and  doing 
his  best  to  get  in  readiness  for  the  first  mess  call.  Some  donned 
bathing  suits  and  hiked  over  the  half-mile  of  sand  to  the  ocean 
to  take  an  early  morning  dip  and  get  back  in  time  for  the 
second  mess  call. 

The  ringing  of  the  bell  meant  a  rush  for  the  "chow"  tents. 
These  were  soon  filled  with  a  happy,  laughing,  talking,  eating 
group,  who  sat  down  on  long  benches  before  long  tables  and 
were  served  with  good  eatables  in  healthy  quantities. 

After  breakfast  everyone  busied  himself  with  making  up. 
Before  a  long  table  on  which  stood  several  large  bottles  of 
the  yellow  make-up  fluid,  the  numerous  extras  lined  up  and 
washed  all  the  exposed  parts  of  their  bodies  with  the  solution, 
then  applied  their  facial  make-ups.  The  morning  mail  was 
read  while  waiting  for  the  sun  to  penetrate  the  fog.  Of  course, 
there  were  the  camp  sprites — in  this  case,  two  little  extra 
girls.  Clad  in  overalls  when  not  in  costume,  they  kept  up  a 
continual  round  of  mischief  and  practical  jokes,  received  ad- 
monitions from  the  director  every  day,  but  all  to  no  avail. 
Their  mischief  was  highly  enjoyed  by  all  and  when  things 
began  to  look  dull,  they  would  see  all  the  more  opportunity 
to  liven  the  situation  with  innocent  fun. 

The  lunch  mess  bell  meant  another  break  for  camp.  If 
scenes  were  being  taken  out  on  the  sand,  several  hundred 
yards  from  the  camp,  the  Arab  horsemen  made  the  best  charge 
of  the  day  as  they  broke  in  disordered  confusion  in  a  rapid 
sprint  for  the  camp.  There  was  always  a  "clean  house"  in 
the  mess  tent  after  the  two  rounds  of  lunches  had  been  con- 
sumed. Those  among  the  party  who  were  talented  in  a  musical 
way,  generally  got  in  at  the  first  call  and  while  the  second 
mess  was  being  served,  gathered  round  in  a  circle  with  their 
instruments  and  rendered  a  few  selections. 

Following  an  afternoon  of  work  and  another  dip  in  the 
ocean  by  many  members  of  the  company,  the  same  rush  for 
food  would  take  place  about  seven  P.  M.  After  the  last 
"chow"  of  the  day,  the  shades  of  night  began  to  mantle  the 
novel  camp.  The  camp  musicians  would  again  get  busy  and 
soft  music  under  the  starlit  canopy  of  Nature,  punctuated  by 
the  distant  booming  of  the  surf,  was  a  fitting  finish  for  a  day  big 


HUNTING  LOCATIONS  91 

with  accomplishments.  This  was  the  unwritten  program  every 
evening  except  the  one  Friday  night  when  all  the  company 
turned  out  in  a  body  to  attend  the  movie  ball  given  in  its  honor 
by  the  citizens  of  the  nearest  town.  Khaki,  overalls  and  camp 
togs  predominated  at  this  affair,  among  the  screen  celebrities, 
male  and  female,  and  all  of  the  people  of  the  town  danced 
and  mingled  in  joyous  revelry  with  the  real  notables  in  large 
numbers. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  camp  quieted  down  considerably  and  most 
of  the  company,  anticipating  the  early  morning  call,  were  al- 
ready in  dreamland.  The  plaintive,  mournful  notes  of  evening 
taps  from  a  distant  bugle  seemed  to  make  the  quietude  supreme, 
which  was  then  unbroken  save  for  the  occasional  far-away 
tinkling  of  some  guitar  or  mandolin  and  perhaps,  by  contrast 
— the  ridiculous  bray  of  one  of  the  caravan  camels. 

The  foregoing  is  a  brief,  representative  picture  of  the  life 
of  a  large  motion  picture  company  on  location  and  shows 
the  democratic  spirit  which  prevails  among  these,  the  people 
of  Shadowland. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  ART  OF  DIRECTION 

HE  mystery  art  of  motion  pictures ! 

That's  the  art  of  screen  direction.  The  mystery 
art,  because  very  few  directors,  however  proficient 
they  may  be,  will  attempt  to  describe  or  explain  it. 
Without  a  doubt,  the  most  responsible,  the  most 
exacting,  the  most  important  executive  work  within 
the  film  production  organization — the  controlling  lever  of  the 
production  machine,  it  is  for  that  very  reason,  perhaps,  the 
hardest  to  describe,  the  most  puzzling  to  explain,  the  most 
difficult  to  analyze. 

Were  one  to  choose  as  his  subject,  "How  to  direct  a  mo- 
tion picture,"  he  might  write  volumes,  and  those  volumes 
should  involve  a  discussion  of  every  subject  from  ancient 
philosophy  to  modern  dress  for  women ;  or  he  might  generalize 
and  cover  the  entire  subject  in  a  few  words.  It  is  probable 
that  generalities  would  convey  a  better  idea  of  the  intricacies 
of  the  art  than  a  long,  drawn-out  confusing  discourse,  filled 
with  rules  and  regulations,  pointers  and  suggestions,  because 
the  latter  would  place  limitations  upon  an  art.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  screen  direction  is  an  art  and  not  a  mechani- 
cal procedure  or  formula.  It  cannot  be  limited  by  rules,  be- 
cause then  it  ceases  to  become  an  art.  Art  is  an  expression 
of  genius  and  no  two  geniuses  express  art  alike.  The  main 
spring  of  genius  is  individuality.  Thus,  if  the  aspiring  director 
would  read  volume  after  volume  of  a  treatise  on  how  it  is 
done,  were  he  a  genius  he  would  probably  then  proceed  to 
forget  everything  he  had  read  except  vital  principles  and  do 
things  his  own  way  and  as  his  own  individuality  dictated. 


THE  ART  OF  DIRECTION  93 

From  this  it  reasonably  follows  that  hardly  any  two  directors 
direct  motion  pictures  in  the  same  way. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  however,  that  the  director  must  have  a 
fairly  good  working  knowledge  of  every  other  branch  of  pro- 
duction, in  order  to  understand  their  part  in  his  picture,  and 
to  supervise  their  harmonious  operation  in  connection  there- 
with ;  he  should  be  a  keen  student  of  human  nature ;  a  broad 
visioned  judge  of  character;  he  must  have  his  reserve  of  his- 
tory, of  art,  he  must  possess  a  keen  sense  of  dramatic  values — 
he  must  know  life,  intimately,  in  many  of  its  phases  and  he 
must  be  a  genius. 

Leaving  to  an  expert  in  this  work,  a  proper  presentation 
and  explanation  of  the  art  of  screen  direction,  I  shall  quote 
at  some  length,  one  of  our  foremost  modern  screen  directors, 
who,  because  of  the  consistent  success  of  his  productions, 
might  be  taken  as  a  valuable  authority  on  the  subject.  In  an- 
swer to  my  point-blank  question,  "How  do  you  direct  motion 
pictures?"  he  began  his  explanation  with  the  following  start- 
ling but  unique  reply : 

"I  don't  know  how  to  direct!  I  never  try  to  outline  just 
how  it  is  done ;  I  simply  make  a  start  and  go  through  with  it. 

"There  is  only  one  qualification  that  a  director  must  have," 
he  continued.  "He  must  be  able  to  direct!  As  to  how  that 
is  done,  there  are  no  set  formulas.  With  some  directors,  it 
is  a  matter  of  common  sense,  with  others  it  is  a  question  of 
being  foolish  in  the  right  way ;  with  me  it  is  a  matter  of  trust- 
ing in  God  and  sweating.  In  general,  I  should  like  to  remark 
that  as  a  rule  the  more  a  director  talks  about  directing,  the 
bigger  fool  he  is  apt  to  make  of  himself. 

"I  believe  it  is  a  great  mistake  for  an  artist  to  try  to  tell 
how  he  paints,  because  if  he  is  a  good  artist,  he  doesn't  know. 
He  has  no  definite  rules  to  follow.  He  just  takes  his  brushes 
and  materials  and  paints.  His  painting  is  an  expression  of 
his  genius — his  individuality. 

"The  relationship  of  a  director  to  a  motion  picture  is  the 
relationship  of  a  general  to  an  army.  He  is  as  strong  as  the 
army,  but  the  army  is  no  stronger  than  the  general.  Without 
the  proper  assistance  from  the  various  contributing  factors 


94  PEN   TO 

of  film  production  and  the  proper  kind  of  actors,  the  director 
is  helpless,  but  if  the  director  falls  down,  the  best  assistance 
and  the  most  talented  actors  in  the  world  won't  save  his  pic- 
ture. He  is  the  general.  To  properly  utilize  and  apply  the 
skill  and  genius  of  the  many  various  production  branches,  there 
must  be  a  central,  active  head.  Otherwise,  there  would  be 
lost  motion  and  a  lack  of  unity  and  organization.  Therefore, 
his  word  must  be  law.  He  is  the  final  court  of  appeal.  If  he 
doesn't  know  what  to  do  in  an  emergency,  he  simply  falls 
down.  He  must  make  the  decision.  He  has  no  one  to  whom 
to  pass  the  buck.  He  used  to  try  to  pass  it  to  the  scenario 
writer,  but  that  custom  is  rapidly  going  out  of  date.  If  the 
picture  isn't  good,  the  director  really  has  no  one  to  blame  but 
himself. 

"The  principles  of  screen  direction  depend,  of  course,  a 
great  deal  upon  the  nature  of  the  story.  If  the  story  is  about 
human  character  and  human  beings,  the  picture  should  have 
something  to  do  with  people  and  not  just  the  way  they  move 
their  arms  and  legs.  A  human  being,  primarily,  is  what  he 
has  inside — his  emotions,  his  inner  soul,  not  just  what  is  on 
the  physical  surface. 

"The  director  ought  to  know  a  little  about  everything 
under  the  sun  and  a  great  deal  about  the  human  'critter.'  He 
ought  to  have  a  keen  sense  of  dramatic  values.  Sometimes, 
if  he  is  lucky,  he  does  have. 

"I  try  to  work  with  my  people  in  the  same  way  that  the 
conductor  of  an  orchestra  works  with  his  musicians.  He 
doesn't  teach  them  how  to  play.  He  conducts  them — directs 
them.  He  takes  a  number  of  artists  and  has  them  play  one 
thing  instead  of  playing  individual  things.  That  is  all  the 
conductor  can  do.  His  function  is  to  unify  the  work  of  a 
number  of  artists  into  one  expression,  each  artist  possessing 
the  ability  to  play  perfectly  his  own  instrument.  That  is  what 
the  director  of  a  picture  does.  Each  actor  must  be  able  to 
interpret  perfectly  his  own  part.  I  tell  them  what,  not  how. 
I  set  the  music  before  them,  as  it  were.  I  do  this  by  explaining 
to  them  the  psychology  of  each  situation,  what  each  character 
stands  for  in  the  general  scheme  of  things,  and  his  relation 
to  each  and  all  of  the  other  characters  and  then  leave  it  to 


THE  ART  of  DIRECTION  95 

them  to  begin  to  tell  me  by  action  and  expression  just  what 
those  respective  characters  would  do  under  the  circumstances. 
"Each  character  must  express  himself  in  the  terms  of  his 
own  personality.  What  would  be  correct  for  one  actor  to  do 
under  the  circumstances  would  not  be  correct  for  another 
actor  to  do,  unless  they  both  possessed  the  same  personality. 
This  involves  another  angle  of  the  work  of  the  director— not 
fitting  the  actor  to  the  action  but  fitting  the  character  to  the 
actor  who  portrays  it.  That  is  what  makes  for  human  charac- 
terizations and  natural  acting.  In  other  words,  if  one  is  direct- 
ing grand  opera  and  knows  that  the  tenor  can't  reach  a  high 
'C  if  he  couldn't  get  another  tenor,  it  would  be  very  foolish 
of  him  to  make  the  tenor  keep  trying  to  sing  high  'C'  when  he 
could  have  him  sing  a  different  note  with  an  equally  harmo- 
nious effect,  thus  fitting  the  note  to  the  singer  instead  of  making 
the  singer  strain  his  vocal  chords  to  reach  the  note. 

"These  are  only  my  ideas  of  direction.  Every  director, 
however,  has  his  own  methods  and  what  is  right  for  one  and 
his  type  of  work,  might  be  wrong  for  another.  That  is  where 
individuality  conies  in. 

"There  is  no  school  for  directors.  The  only  way  to  learn 
direction  is  to  observe  others  direct  and  then  to  direct.  There 
are,  of  course,  certain  elementals  which  can  be  picked  up  or 
acquired,  but  the  chances  are  that  after  he  has  absorbed  these 
elementals,  the  director  will  change  them  in  adapting  them  to 
himself.  In  the  matter  of  direction,  I  owe  more  to  Mr.  David 
Belasco  than  to  anyone  else,  but  I  cannot  direct  the  same  way 
he  does.  I  can  only  take  the  principles  that  I  learned  from  him 
and  use  them,  not  absolutely,  but  only  insofar  as  they  apply  to 
my  own  individuality.  These  principles  can  be  expressed,  but 
it  is  very  dangerous  to  express  them.  When  an  artist  starts  to 
make  rules  to  govern  art,  the  worst  thing  that  can  happen  to 
him  is  to  have  to  try  to  follow  those  rules." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
SCREEN  PORTRAYAL 

HERE  are  two  kinds  of  screen  portrayal.  These 
might  best  be  designated  as  straight  personality  and 
character  interpretation.  An  illustration  of  the  first 
class  is  the  actor  who  always  plays  roles  exactly 
suited  to  his  or  her  own  individual  personality,  as 
in  the  case  of  some  stars.  The  actor  or  actress  in  this 
case  simply  acts  naturally,  in  a  role  which  has  been  written  to 
exactly  fit  him,  just  as  he  or  she  would  act  if  placed  in  the  situ- 
ations contained  in  the  story,  injecting  into  his  or  her  portrayal, 
the  full  measure  of  individual  expression  and  personality. 

The  second  class  is  the  screen  artist  who  assumes  a  type 
of  characterization  entirely  foreign  to  his  own  natural  person- 
ality and  who  maintains  that  character  throughout  the  entire 
picture,  living,  as  it  were,  as  a  separate  identity  and  never 
once  allowing  his  own  natural  self  to  penetrate  the  mask  of  this 
other  being  with  which  he  has  clothed  himself. 

It  can  easily  be  seen  how  the  latter  type  of  histrionic  per- 
formance is  by  far  the  more  difficult  of  the  two.  In  the  one 
case,  the  actor  expresses  only  himself,  in  a  made-to-fit  or  cut- 
to-measure  role.  In  the  latter  instance,  he  steps  into  the  shoes 
of  another  and  entirely  different  being. 

It  is  thus  not  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  actor  who 
interprets  another  character  really  lives  two  different  lives 
while  engaged  in  a  part.  And  it  is  surprising,  if  the  truth  be 
known,  just  how  much  of  his  time  and  attention  a  good  actor 
devotes  to  living  the  life  of  the  imaginary  person  whom  he 
brings  into  existence  on  the  silversheet.  A  noted  actor  was 
once  heard  to  remark:  "I  spend  so  much  time  living  and 


SCREEN  PORTRAYAL  97 

thinking  in  character  that  I  have  to  pause  at  intervals  and  take 
a  little  while  to  resume  an  acquaintance  with  myself." 

The  problem  of  just  how  the  actor  or  actress  adapts  him 
or  herself  to  another  being,  passing  completely  out  of  the  con- 
fines of  his  or  her  own  personality,  is  probably  the  one  that  is 
most  difficult  to  understand  and  thus  most  interesting  to  the 
person  who  sits  in  the  audience  and  views  a  picture  on  the 
screen.  On  one  occasion,  he  sees  his  favorite  actor  playing  a 
particular  role  possessing  a  number  of  typical  characteristics. 
At  another  time,  he  sees  the  same  actor  in  a  characterization 
so  entirely  different  from  the  former  that  it  is  as  if  two  dif- 
ferent persons  with  characteristics  entirely  foreign  to  each 
other,  had  played  the  two  roles.  And  so  on  in  every  picture 
in  which  that  certain  actor  or  actress  may  appear. 

Let  us  try  to  analyze  the  principles  which  govern  the  art 
of  screen  portrayal  and  show  how  the  results  are  dependent 
thereon. 

Character  interpretation  is  fundamentally  a  mental  process. 
It  is  not,  primarily,  a  question  of  how  an  actor  moves  about 
before  the  camera — his  mechanical  or  physical  manifestations 
or  expressions.  This  is,  of  course,  a  necessary  consideration, 
but  it  is  secondary.  He  must  first  get  himself  completely 
absorbed  into  the  character,  the  attributes,  the  qualities,  tem- 
perament and  disposition  of  the  subject  he  is  portraying.  This 
is  a  mental  process.  The  physical  part  of  the  job  naturally 
follows  after  the  actor  or  actress  has  the  character  completely 
in  mind. 

A  good  deal  of  light  can  be  thrown  on  an  explanation  of 
this  kind  by  a  comparison  of  stage  and  screen  acting.  In 
legitimate  work,  an  actor  perfects  his  role  more  or  less  mechani- 
cally. On  the  screen,  his  work  is  largely  creative.  On  the 
stage  he  has  a  great  deal  of  time  to  work  out  his  interpreta- 
tion. He  rehearses  his  lines,  his  elocution,  and  his  expres- 
sions. He  draws  a  veritable  plan  of  the  characterization, 
figuratively  speaking  and  when  he  comes  to  play,  he  can  take 
out  that  plan  and  follow  it,  line  for  line.  After  playing  the 
role  night  after  night  for  a  month,  he  knows  it  by  heart — not 
only  the  lines,  but  every  move  and  every  expression.  Finally, 


98  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

it  becomes  a  cut-and-dried  affair.  He  can  take  it  off  or  put 
it  on  at  will.  When  he  leaves  the  theatre  he  can  forget  all 
about  it  until  the  next  show. 

Some  actors  and  actresses  have  played  one  legitimate  role 
for  as  long  as  two  years.  While  playing  that  part  it  was,  of 
course,  impossible  for  that  actor  or  actress  to  feel  the  same 
every  night.  There  were  times  when  he  felt  badly,  other  times 
when  he  was  cross  or  moody,  others  when  he  was  happy.  But 
the  moment  he  stepped  into  that  role  he  would  be  utterly  obliv- 
ious to  his  personal  feelings.  He  began  again  a  mechanical 
procedure  that  had  been  ground  in  thoroughly.  It  was  pos- 
sible to  get  that  technique  and  those  mechanics  so  set  that  he 
could  give  a  technical  performance  no  matter  how  he  felt.  A 
certain  actor  once  played  a  legitimate  role  for  a  week,  suffering 
all  the  time  from  a  broken  ankle.  But  at  no  time  during  that 
week  did  any  one  in  the  audience  notice  that  anything  was 
'wrong. 

For  a  motion  picture,  however,  the  actor  who  portrays  a 
distinct  character  must  throw  a  great  deal  of  thought  into  that 
characterization,  not  only  while  on  the  set,  but  at  all  times — in 
his  dressing  room,  outside  the  studio,  at  his  home.  He  does 
not  form  a  habit  as  he  does  after  continual  rehearsals  of  a  stage 
part.  He  must  be  creative  every  moment  he  works.  Every 
scene  is  different  and  he  does  not  work  in  sequence — that  is, 
he  does  not  begin  with  the  first  scene  in  the  picture  and  go 
straight  through  to  the  last.  He  might  begin  with  the  middle 
scene  of  the  picture.  Therefore,  he  must  possess  spontaneity 
and  to  do  that  he  must  keep  his  mind  full  of  the  character.  He 
must  be  able  to  take  him  up  at  any  point  in  the  story,  hap- 
hazard. If  his  mind  wanders  away  from  that  imaginary  being 
he  will  make  a  false  move  and  allow  a  wrong  interpretation 
to  slip  in. 

When  the  wise  actor  or  actress  first  hears  the  nature  of 
the  character  he  or  she  is  to  play  for  a  screen  role,  he  begins 
to  absorb  the  characteristics  of  that  subject  and  continue  so  to 
do  until  it  is  a  very  part  of  him. 

•Suppose  an  actor  starts  to  work  on  a  studio  set.  He  is 
playing  an  unusual  character.  The  director  explains  a  bit  of 


SCREEN  PORTRAYAL  99 

action— tells  him,  for  a  simple  example,  to  enter  the  door,  find 
a  letter  on  the  table,  pick  it  up  and  read  it  and  realize  it  is  a 
good-bye  message  from  a  loved  one  who  has  proven  false  and 
deserted.    There  are  a  million  different  ways  of  doing  this— a 
different   way   for   every   different   human   being   on    earth. 
Which  is  the  right  way  in  this  particular  instance  ?    The  way 
the  character  in  question  would  do  it.    And  how  would  he  do 
it?    The  only  way  to  determine  that  is  to  have  that  character 
so  well  in  mind  that  unconsciously  the  actor  will  do  it  just  as 
would  the  character.     This  should  clearly  illustrate  the  vast 
importance  of  a  right  mental  attitude  on  the  part  of  the  actor. 
Conrad  Nagel,  former  stage  favorite  and  now  prominent 
screen  actor,  once  related  an  incident  which  concretely  shows 
the  fatality  of  a  mental  laxity  on  the  part  of  a  screen  actor  in 
portraying  the  character  with  which  he  has  been  entrusted,  and 
is  a  specific  case  in  point. 

"There  was  one  day,"  said  Mr.  Nagel,  "during  the  filming 
of  'What  Every  Woman  Knows,'  when  for  a  few  moments  I 
allowed  my  mind  to  wander  from  the  character  of  John  Shand, 
which  I  was  portraying.     I  played  a  scene  and  a  false  note 
slipped  in.    John  Shand  was  not  conceited,  but  he  was  a  very 
egotistical  young  man.     But  his  very  egotism  was  directly 
responsible  for  his  success.    Had  he  been  conceited,  he  would 
not  have  been  successful,  but  his  egotism— his  absolute  unfail- 
ing confidence  in  himself,  swept  him  on  to  victory.    I  had  to  be 
very  careful  at  all  times  to  make  a  distinction  between  these 
two  qualities  in  the  man.    An  expression  of  the  one  was  fatal— 
the  other,  expressed,  was  his  principal  characteristic.    On  this 
particular  day,  I  was  not  thinking  very  much  about  the  char- 
acter.   The  scene  was  the  one  in  which  John  Shand  walked 
into  the  room  in  which  a  delegation  of  women  were  waiting 
to  see  him.     I  walked  in  with  a  little  strut  and  swing  of  the 
shoulders  that  conveyed   a  wrong  expression.    Conceit  was 
written  all  over  such  an  entrance  and  conceit  was  absolutely 
foreign  to  the  character  of  John  Shand.     I  wasn't  thinking 
what  I  was  doing.    I  had  let  my  mind  slip  out  of  tune  with  the 
character.    The  scene  didn't  look  bad  in  the  projection  room 
and   I  didn't  realize  the  mistake  until   the  picture   was   all 


100  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

assembled  and  I  saw  the  contrast  of  his  attitude  in  this  one 
scene  with  his  characteristics  in  all  the  other  scenes.  It  was 
a  discordant  note  in  the  characterization  of  John  Shand." 

It  is  because  of  the  creative  nature  of  his  daily  work  that 
the  screen  actor  must  be  mentally  on  the  job  at  all  times.  He 
must  feel  tip-top  every  day  he  works.  If  he  isn't  feeling  good, 
or  if  his  mind  is  in  any  wise  occupied  with  other  things  or 
distracted  from  the  central  idea,  he  can't  do  his  work  right. 


CHAPTER  XV 
CINEMATOGRAPHY 

IGHTEEN    thousand    dollars    for    a    single    motion 
picture  camera !    This  astounding  figure,  representing 
the  amount  of  money  which  has  been  invested  in  one 
of  the  machines  through  which  the  narrow  strip  of 
film  runs,  to  be  exposed  with  a  light  and  shadow 
impression  of  the  scene  which  is  staged  before  it,  will 
perhaps  illustrate,  more  conclusively  than  it  could  be  otherwise 
stated,  the  important  part  which  this  little  machine  plays  in  the 
big  complex  art  of  film  production. 

Upon  the  camera  and  the  skill  of  the  man  who  operates  it, 
hinges  all  the  other  branches  of  this  many  sided  work,  because 
if  the  camera  fails  to  record  the  action  and  expressions  of  the 
players  and  the  beauty  of  the  settings  and  backgrounds,  the 
work  of  all  those  who  have  put  their  energy  and  genius  into 
such  vital  processes  will  have  been  in  vain.  The  camera  is  the 
agency  by  which  the  works  of  all  these  various  contributing 
factors  are  materialized ;  the  wonder  machine  which  condenses 
them  all  into  one  little  strip  of  film,  which,  at  the  completion  of 
the  picture,  is  all  that  the  producers  have  to  show  for  all  the 
time,  genius,  money  and  gray  matter  that  has  been  expended 
in  the  production  of  the  photoplay. 

Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  the  camera  has  been  developed 
from  its  first  crude  state,  to  the  present  elaborate,  perfect 
mechanical  device  which  it  is  and  that  some  cameramen  have 
seen  fit  to  invest  snug  fortunes  in  this  little  machine,  equipping 
it  with  all  the  various  lenses,  devices  and  improvements  which 
the  modern  age  has  made  possible? 

The  motion  picture  camera  works  on  the  same  principle  as 
the  still  photographic  camera,  except  that  it  takes  many  pictures 


102  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

in  the  time  that  the  still  camera  would  take  one  picture.  The 
film  runs  through  the  camera  at  a  rapid  rate  and  as  a  rule,  about 
sixteen  exposures,  or  separate  tiny  pictures  are  made  with 
every  second  of  time  or  every  turn  of  the  camera  crank.  Thus, 
as  the  players  perform,  these  pictures,  following  each  other  in 
rapid  succession,  record  continuous  sequences  of  motion  and 
when  run  through  the  projection  machine  and  flashed  on  to  a 
screen,  reproduce  that  motion  of  the  players.  The  little  skips 
in  between  each  picture,  as  one  jumps  away  from  the  projec- 
tion lens  and  is  replaced  by  another  which  advances  the  motion 
a  whit  further,  are  covered  by  a  shutter  which  is  synchronized 
to  cover  the  lens  during  these  extremely  short  intervals.  The 
human  eye  is  not  quick  enough  to  catch  these  changes  as  the 
film  speeds  through  the  projection  machine  and  the  illusion  of 
continuous  motion  on  the  part  of  the  players,  is  all  that 
appears  to  the  eye  of  the  spectator. 

The  slower  the  film  is  turned  in  the  camera,  the  faster  the 
action  of  the  players  when  projected  on  the  screen,  because 
there  are  larger  breaks  in  their  motion,  which  are  filled  in  by 
the  imagination  of  the  spectator  as  he  watches  the  illusion 
flashing  before  him.  In  the  same  way,  the  faster  the  camera- 
man operates  his  machine  while  photographing  a  scene,  the 
slower  the  action  of  the  players  when  the  film  is  projected. 
This  principle  allows  for  many  speed  and  slow  motion  effects, 
which  would  otherwise  be  impossible.  Thus,  a  stunt  scene 
where  an  actor  jumps  from  a  moving  railway  train  to  an 
automobile  alongside,  or  something  on  that  same  order  can 
be  safely  made  with  the  train  and  automobile  traveling  at  a 
slow  rate  of  speed.  The  cameraman  turns  his  camera  slowly 
on  the  scene  and  when  it  is  projected  on  the  screen,  the  train 
and  automobile  appear  to  be  traveling  at  a  dizzy  rate  of  speed. 

The  unique  "slow  motion"  photography,  now  often  seen 
on  the  screen  and  which  slows  down  the  motion  of  a  fast 
runner  or  an  athletic  game  or  other  interesting  action  to  about 
eight  times  less  than  its  normal  speed,  is  accomplished  by  this 
principle.  The  cameraman,  with  a  special  machine,  turns  his 
camera  very  rapidly,  making  so  many  exposures  of  the  motion 
as  to  absorb  more  of  the  details  of  the  motion  and  thus  slowing 
down  the  action  of  the  subject.  On  the  other  hand,  pictures 


CINEMATOGRAPHY  103 

have  been  made  showing  a  flower  grow  to  full  size,  bud,  and 
blossom  in  a  few  moments,  by  the  aid  of  stop-motion  photog- 
raphy. This  is  because  the  camera  is  operated  extremely  slow, 
only  one  or  two  exposures  being  made  per  day,  and  at  the 
end  of  several  days,  when  the  flower  has  matured  and  blos- 
somed, only  a  few  feet  of  film  have  passed  through  the  camera, 
recording  the  entire  action  of  the  development  of  the  plant. 

The  "fade-out"  and  "fade-in"  are  two  common  effects  seen 
on  the  screen,  made  by  devices  on  the  modern  camera.  In  the 
case  of  the  fade-in,  the  figures  in  the  scene  slowly  fade  into 
view  on  a  hitherto  blank  screen.  This  is  done  by  a  gradual 
admission  of  the  light  until  the  lens  is  fully  open.  The  fade- 
out  is  a  reverse  process  to  the  fade-in.  These  effects  can  also 
be  obtained,  when  necessary,  by  the  use  of  chemicals  in  the 
laboratory  development  process.  In  this  case  they  are  known 
as  "chemical"  fades. 

The  "iris"  is  a  camera  attachment  which  narrows  down 
the  area  covered  by  the  lens  to  a  vanishing  point  in  the  center, 
or  reversed,  gradually  opens  up  the  area  of  the  lens  until  the 
entire  screen  area  is  visible.  The  former  effect  is  known  as  an 
"iris  out,"  and  the  latter  an  "iris  in." 

"Reverse  action"  is  made  by  running  the  film  through  the 
camera  backwards  while  taking  a  scene.  Thus,  when  the  film 
is  projected  on  the  screen  in  the  natural  way,  the  last  action  of 
the  players  will  be  seen  first  and  the  first  action  of  the  players, 
last.  This  reverses  their  action. 

Double  and  triple  exposure  are  effects  very  often  used  in 
modern  motion  picture  photography,  especially  in  pictures 
where  one  star  plays  two  roles  and  often  seemingly  converses 
and  acts  with  himself  in  the  same  scene.  This  is  done  as  fol- 
lows :  The  cameraman  blocks  out  one  half  of  his  lens,  leaving 
the  other  half  open.  He  then  turns  his  camera  and  records 
the  action  of  the  player  on  one  side  of  the  film  to  which  light 
is  admitted  by  that  part  of  the  lens  not  covered.  During  this 
action  he  counts  and  identifies  certain  actions  of  the  player  by 
certain  counts.  At  the  finish  of  the  scene,  he  then  rewinds  his 
film  back  into  the  unexposed  magazine,  and  shifting  the  lens 
covering  to  the  other  side,  rephotographs  the  player,  in  his 
other  characterization  on  the  other  side  of  the  film,  making 


104  PEN   TO   SlLVERSHEET 

his  actions  to  match  up,  by  the  count,  with  the  actions  of  the 
player  on  the  side  already  photographed. 

This  principle  of  double  exposure  is  also  used  in  scenes 
where  ghosts,  spirits,  visions  or  other  symbols  to  show  the 
vividness  of  the  human  imagination  are  shown.  The  scene 
is  first  photographed,  the  player  or  players  acting  just  as  if  they 
were  seeing  the  ghost  or  vision  and  their  action  timed  by 
count.  The  film  is  then  rewound  and  run  through  the  camera 
again,  this  time  with  the  figure  portraying  the  ghost  or  vision 
in  action.  Because  the  film  has  already  been  exposed  once, 
the  figure  on  the  second  exposure  will  appear  very  light  or 
transparent,  as  a  ghost,  and  articles  of  furniture,  etc.,  reg- 
istered on  the  first  exposure  can  be  discerned  through  that 
player.  The  action  of  the  ghost  or  vision  is  also  synchronized 
to  the  action  of  the  players  in  the  first  exposure  by  the  camera- 
man's count. 

Having  discussed  and  explained  briefly  a  few  of  the  vital 
principles  of  the  motion  picture  camera,  let  us  consider  the 
training  of  the  men  who  are  assigned  to  the  important  duty  of 
operating  the  camera. 

The  majority  of  the  chief  cameramen,  the  heads  of  the 
camera  departments  in  the  various  large  studios,  and  the  chief 
executives  in  that  branch  of  the  art,  have  instituted  a  very 
thorough  and  rigid  course  of  training  for  the  men  who  operate 
these  machines,  teaching  them  the  profession  from  the  begin- 
ning right  in  the  studio.  One  head  cameraman  has  developed 
something  like  thirty  cameramen  during  his  experience  at  a 
certain  studio,  starting  them  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder  and 
training  them  in  the  fundamentals  of  photography,  the 
chemical  phases  and  the  many  incidental  processes  which  are 
akin  and  subsidiary  to  the  actual  photography  of  the  picture, 
and  taking  them  step  by  step  until  they  have  reached  the 
ultimate  goal — the  positions  of  head  cameraman. 

"In  the  first  place,"  he  explained,  when  interviewed  upon 
the  subject,  "I  always  select  from  the  applicants  for  this  work, 
men  who  have  studied  chemistry  in  college  or  high  school. 
This  knowledge  is  necessary  to  their  first  work  in  the 
laboratory  in  the  developing  and  printing  of  films,  color  work, 


CINEMATOGRAPHY  105 

tinting,  etc.  The  applicant  is  first  employed  in  the  studio 
laboratory  until  he  learns  this  chemical  phase  of  photography. 
He  is  then  assigned  to  a  first  cameraman  as  assistant. 

"His  duties  as  assistant  are  to  give  the  machine  perfect, 
constant  care,  cleaning  and  overhauling  it  whenever  necessary 
and  to  be  of  every  possible  assistance  to  his  superior  camera- 
man. In  this  way,  he  gains  a  thorough  practical  knowledge 
of  the  mechanical  side  of  the  work.  After  two  or  three  years 
of  this  work  he  is  generally  in  a  position  to  be  promoted  to 
the  post  of  second  cameraman,  whose  work,  under  the  super- 
vision of  the  first  cameraman,  is  largely  of  a  mechanical  nature, 
the  first  cameraman  attending  personally  to  the  lightings, 
effects,  etc.,  and  assuming  all  responsibility  for  the  second 
cameraman's  work. 

"After  he  has  served  in  this  capacity  for  about  two  years, 
if  he  be  qualified  for  this  line  of  work,  he  fills  the  first  vacancy 
on  the  staff  of  head  cameramen. 

"It  will  be  seen  from  this  that  about  five  years'  continuous 
study  and  practice  in  the  various  phases  of  photography  con- 
stitute the  course  of  training  through  which  the  cameraman 
must  pass  before  he  is  entrusted  with  the  important  responsi- 
bility of  acting  as  head  cameraman  for  a  producing  unit." 

A  full-fledged  first  cameraman  must  possess  the  following 
qualifications : 

He  must  be  able  to  deliver  the  goods — to  go  out  and  get 
what  is  assigned  to  him,  regardless  of  cost,  chances,  danger  or 
other  impediments.  Every  cameraman  is  furnished  with  the 
best  of  equipment  in  the  large  studios,  and  no  excuses  for 
failure  are  accepted. 

A  cameraman  does  not  have  to  be  limited  by  any  set  equip- 
ment or  paraphernalia.  He  builds  up  his  own  camera  and  is 
supplied  with  whatever  equipment  he  desires,  to  get  the  best 
effects. 

No  matter  what  else  is  happening,  the  cameraman  must 
always  stick  to  his  camera  and  keep  the  handle  turning.  This 
is  one  of  the  things  upon  which  the  greatest  stress  is  brought 
to  bear  during  his  training.  There  are  always  others  to  take 
care  of  whatever  else  is  necessary.  The  cameraman  must  be 


106  PEN  TO  SlLVERSHEET 

a  veritable  mechanical  part  of  his  camera  during  the  taking  of 
a  scene  and  he  must  get  all  the  action,  no  matter  if  the  scene 
develops  by  chance  into  a  real  tragedy  or  a  grave  accident. 

The  cameraman  is  also  taught  not  to  argue  or  disagree  with 
his  director,  but  rather,  when  possible,  to  co-operate  perfectly 
with  him  and  get  everything  he  asks  for.  Absolute  co- 
operation and  harmony  among  the  various  branches  of  any 
industry  always  are  conducive  of  the  best  results. 

The  cameraman  must  possess  not  only  a  mechanical 
knowledge  of  the  camera  and  all  the  branches  of  photography, 
he  must  not  only  know  how  to  handle  the  film  from  the 
moment  it  goes  into  the  camera  until  it  is  ready  to  be  projected 
upon  the  screen,  taking  it  through  all  the  various  stages  of 
development  from  the  raw  to  the  finished  product,  but  he  must 
possess  an  artistic  talent. 

Cinematography  is  not  simply  a  mechanical  trade  which 
almost  anyone  so  inclined  can  master.  The  cameraman  must 
have  individuality  and  certain  characteristic  ideas  of  expres- 
sion, the  same  as  the  director  and  the  actor.  He  must 
develop  his  own  art  and  avail  himself  of  his  own  talents.  No 
two  cameramen  use  entirely  the  same  methods  or  shoot  a  scene 
in  exactly  the  same  way.  To  photograph  a  motion  picture  is 
not  simply  a  matter  of  focussing  a  camera  and  turning  the 
crank.  A  cameraman  who  is  perfect  in  his  mechanical  work 
and  who  demonstrates  no  ideas  or  initiative  of  his  own,  will 
have  to  strive  hard  for  success.  Upon  him  rests  a  large  part 
of  the  burden  of  proper  lightings  of  the  players  and  settings 
and  the  average  director  also  depends  upon  his  cameraman  a 
great  deal  for  aid  in  the  composition  or  artistic  arrangement 
of  the  photographic  scene. 

A  knowledge  of  the  camera  and  the  artistic  phase  of 
photography  in  motion  pictures,  involves  a  study  of  the 
photographic  values  of  colors,  as  many  rich  color  schemes 
are  used  in  settings  and  costumes  for  the  players.  Black,  red, 
dark  blue,  purple,  yellow,  all  photograph  very  dark,  most  of 
them  black,  as  explained  in  a  previous  chapter.  Pink,  light 
blue,  light  yellow,  lavender  and  other  lighter  shades  all  register 
white  or  very  light  grey.  Greys  and  sepias  are  known  as 
neutral  shades  and  photograph  grey.  It  has  often  been  a 


CINEMATOGRAPHY  107 

puzzle  to  the  layman,  perhaps,  why  the  many  rich  color  com- 
binations are  used  in  gowns,  costumes  and  set  decoration,  if 
they  are  only  to  register  on  the  screen  as  whites,  greys  and 
blacks.  Alvin  Wyckoff,  one  of  the  greatest  camera  experts, 
explains  this  by  entering  into  the  psychological  phase  of  the 
camera  artist's  work. 

"Costumes  and  settings,"  he  explains,  "are  made  up  in 
colors,  principally  for  the  inspiration  they  afford  the  camera- 
men, directors  and  players.  It  is  impossible  to  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  a  scene  unless  one  keenly  feels  the  atmosphere  which 
that  scene  is  supposed  to  represent.  An  actor  on  an  empty 
stage  cannot  give  nearly  the  performance  that  he  can  render 
when  the  same  stage  is  realistically  set  with  the  investiture  and 
atmosphere  of  the  scene  in  question.  In  the  same  way,  the 
motion  picture  actor  can  do  much  better  emotional  work  when 
music  is  provided  him  by  some  artist  on  the  sidelines.  It 
reaches  his  soul  and  his  dramatic  instincts  are  stirred  and 
respond.  Color  values  serve  much  the  same  purpose.  They 
inspire  not  only  the  director  and  the  actors,  but  also  the 
cameraman  and  he  can  often  hit  upon  certain  lighting  effects 
which  the  cold,  unromantic  blacks,  greys  and  whites  would 
not  have  suggested. 

"Can  you  possibly  imagine  a  little  girl  dressed  for  a  party, 
feeling  and  reflecting  the  holiday  spirit  for  a  motion  picture 
scene  if  dressed  in  a  party  dress  of  sombre  grey  or  other  blank 
color,  with  the  same  degree  of  enthusiasm  as  she  would 
employ  in  expressing  the  same  scene  if  dressed  in  a  pretty 
frock  of  pink  or  lavender  or  baby  blue?" 

The  photographic  facilities  of  the  model  large  studio  are 
very  complete.  The  Paramount  west  coast  studio  owns  and 
operates  twenty-six  cameras,  exclusive  of  the  one  already  men- 
tioned. These  average  an  investment  of  from  three  to  four 
thousand  dollars  each.  There  are  also  several  still  cameras, 
a  portrait  machine  and  a  few  kodaks  and  graflex  cameras. 

The  studio  maintains  a  staff  of  forty  cameramen,  com- 
prised of  nine  first  cameramen,  eight  second  cameramen, 
twelve  assistants  and  a  few  still  photographers  and  special 
operators. 

New  experiments  in  photography  and  improvements  are 


108  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

constantly  being  made.  One  device  that  has  come  into  general 
use  during  the  past  few  years  is  the  colored  filter.  These  are 
thin  pieces  of  transparent  colored  silk  gauze  which  are  fitted 
in  front  of  the  camera  lens.  Their  purpose  is  to  make  photo- 
graphic corrections — that  is,  to  make  a  scene  photograph 
exactly  the  same  as  it  looks  to  the  eye.  For  example,  if  one 
should  photograph  a  sky  scene  through  the  straight  camera  lens, 
the  sky,  because  of  the  light  blue  color  and  the  strong  actinic 
light  value,  would  appear  bleached  and  white  on  the  film.  But 
if  the  natural  color  of  the  sky  is  darkened  a  little  by  a  colored 
filter  over  the  lens,  then  the  photographic  result  will  be  exactly 
the  same  shade  as  the  eye  picture. 

A  strict  observance  of  his  duty  to  stick  to  his  camera, 
despite  what  may  happen  during  the  filming  of  a  scene,  often 
entails  daring  risks  to  the  cameraman.  In  fire,  water  and 
other  big  scenes,  the  cameraman  is  often  placed  in  the  most 
dangerous  position  of  all.  And  on  many  occasions,  when  shots 
were  being  made  in  which  ferocious  animals  have  been  used, 
cameramen  have  shown  unsurpassed  bravery  by  sticking  to 
their  posts  at  times  when  the  animals  have  shown  signs  of 
running  amuck. 

Alvin  Wyckoff,  the  head  cameraman  mentioned  above, 
relates  an  incident  in  the  filming  of  an  aeroplane  scene  in  which 
an  adherence  to  his  training  of  sticking  to  his  camera  at  all 
times  proved  his  salvation. 

"I  had  gone  up  in  an  aeroplane,"  he  narrates,  "to  photo- 
graph the  opening  of  the  new  Beverley  Speedway  at  Beverley 
Hills,  California,  at  the  start  of  the  first  race  to  be  held  on  the 
course.  Before  ascending,  I  had  arranged  with  the  pilot 
that  I  would  make  known  my  wishes  to  him  while  in  the  air, 
by  means  of  a  set  of  signals,  it  being  impossible  to  converse 
over  the  roar  of  the  motor.  I  instructed  him  that  when  I 
tapped  him  on  the  left  shoulder,  he  was  to  descend  and  when 
I  touched  him  on  the  right  shoulder,  that  would  be  the  signal 
to  ascend  higher.  Finding  it  impossible  to  get  my  camera 
focussed  directly  on  the  spot  which  I  desired  to  photograph, 
on  account  of  the  straps  and  the  sides  of  the  pit,  I  unstrapped 
myself  and  crawled  out  on  the  top  of  the  plane.  In  getting 
out  of  the  pit,  with  my  back  toward  the  pilot,  my  foot  touched 


CINEMATOGRAPHY  109 

him  on  the  left  shoulder.  Immediately,  he  dropped  and  I  lost 
my  bearings  altogether.  The  only  thing  that  saved  my  life 
was  my  prompt  action  in  throwing  my  arms  around  the  camera 
and  clinging  for  dear  life,  while  my  legs  dangled  in  the  air,  a 
thousand  feet  from  terra  firma.  The  plane  soon  ceased  its 
descent  and  I  was  able  to  crawl  back  into  the  pit." 

Color  photography,  or  the  reproduction  of  motion  pictures 
on  the  screen  in  their  natural  colors,  is  a  very  complicated 
process  which  is  now  and  then  applied  in  the  making  of  cer- 
tain scenes  or  titles  in  a  motion  picture,  but  is  so  involved  that 
a  long  detailed,  technical  discussion  would  be  necessary  in 
order  to  properly  present  it  and  then  it  is  doubtful  if  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  process  would  be  grasped  by  the  layman.  Such  a 
discussion  will  therefore  not  be  entered  into  here.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  however,  that  color  photography,  although  perhaps  it 
will  never  take  the  place  entirely  of  straight  photography,  it 
is  nevertheless  now  a  perfected  reality  and  will  be  valuable 
in  future  motion  picture  production  in  making  special  titles 
and  in  putting  over  certain  impressive  effects  which  would 
otherwise  be  impossible.  Color  photography  involves  the  use 
of  a  special  camera  which  exposes  two  different  sets  of 
negative  film  at  the  same  time,  each  negative  being  sensitized 
to  a  different  set  of  color  light  values,  and  which,  when 
developed  in  the  laboratory  takes  up  the  dye  color  preparations 
representing  those  values. 


LIGHTINGS  AND  EFFECTS 

NE  of  the  most  vital  of  all  life-giving  elements  is 

light. 

Life,  action,  realism,  are  the  vital  spark  of  the 

motion  picture  and  correct  lighting  is  one  of  the  most 

active  factors  in  the  attainment  of  these  qualities  on 

the  screen. 

Old  Sol,  the  main  source  of  earthly  light,  however,  has 
been  cheated  of  part  of  his  glory  in  the  modern  lighting  sys- 
tems now  in  use  in  the  large  motion  picture  producing  plants. 
In  the  early  days  of  the  film  industry,  artificial  lights  were 
unheard  of  and  the  sun  was  the  source  of  all  photographic 
illumination.  When  rainy  weather  came  along,  however, 
there  had  to  be  a  suspension  of  activities.  It  was  impossible 
to  get  anything  but  flat,  plain  photography  by  the  use  of  sun- 
light. Special  effects  were  out  of  the  question. 

But  after  a  while,  as  the  art-industry  progressed,  audiences 
began  to  be  critical  of  photographic  lightings  in  screen  produc- 
tions and  soon  the  lightings  were  given  a  prominent  place  in 
the  reviews  of  critics.  The  importance  of  lightings  and  effects 
began  to  be  realized  when  a  few  crude  attempts  were  made 
to  obtain  unusual  effects  and  add  to  the  psychological  value 
of  certain  scenes  by  variations  of  light.  It  was  also  discovered 
that  the  varying  intensities  of  sunlight,  during  the  day,  would 
result  in  varying  degrees  of  light  tones  in  the  completed  film. 
This  gave  rise  to  a  necessity  for  standardized  or  even  lighting, 
which  would  be  of  an  even  tone  throughout  the  picture,  except 
where  special  effects  were  desired.  The  result  is  the  elaborate 
lighting  systems  now  in  use  in  the  modern  studios.  It  is  now 
possible  to  defy  the  sun,  as  it  were — to  shoot  in  rainy  or 


LIGHTINGS  AND  EFFECTS  111 

cloudy  weather  as  well  as  on  the  brightest  days.  So  practical 
and  so  efficient  have  become  the  systems  of  electrical  illumina- 
tion now  in  vogue  that  hardly  an  interior  scene  is  made  with- 
out the  aid  of  these  powerful  illuminating  agencies. 

The  systems  of  electrical  studio  illumination  are  conducted 
under  the  supervision  of  trained  electrical  engineers  who  have 
been  famous  for  big  achievements  in  this  line  of  work. 

For  a  detailed  observance  of  one  of  the  most  practical  and 
efficient  systems  of  studio  illumination  now  in  use,  let  us  again 
turn  to  our  model  studio  which  has  provided  much  of  the 
material  for  previous  chapters  and  study  its  illumination 
facilities. 

This  studio  is  equipped  with  a  mammoth  electric  plant 
and  a  complete,  elaborate  system  of  wiring  for  current  distribu- 
tion to  points  all  over  the  four  studio  stages.  The  plant 
includes  a  big  three-unit  Westinghouse  motor  generator, 
another  smaller  generator  set,  a  twenty-three  hundred  volt 
switchboard,  and  a  new  one  hundred  and  ten  volt  low  tension 
switchboard  which  will  handle  both  alternating  and  direct  cur- 
rent, distributing  this  current  to  any  stage  wall  switch ;  a  com- 
plete set  of  transformers  and  other  electrical  units  and 
machinery.  About  twenty  feet  apart  on  each  side  of  each  of 
the  four  big  stages  are  new  special  Kranz  safety  switch 
pockets.  These  connect  by  cables  with  portable  switchboards, 
which  stand  on  the  set  where  scenes  are  being  photographed, 
each  of  these  portable  switchboards  being  capable  of  accom- 
modating a  complete  set  of  lights  for  illuminating  purposes. 

The  studio  electrical  shop,  another  unit  of  the  system,  is 
maintained  by  a  crew  of  efficient  engineers,  to  keep  all  lamps 
repaired,  overhauled  and  in  splendid  condition,  thus  avoiding 
poor  lighting  and  hold-ups  to  directors,  and  to  execute  many 
new  ideas  and  innovations  constantly  being  introduced.  The 
shop  men  built  the  new  switchboard  above  referred  to  and 
have  constructed  many  new  designs  in  light  equipment,  which 
will  be  discussed  in  detail  a  little  further  on. 

Portable  generator  plants,  mounted  on  large  trucks,  supply 
the  current  for  the  illumination  of  scenes  made  at  night  on 
exterior  location  sites  away  from  the  studio.  Three  of  these 
portable  generator  plants,  also  one  set  of  transformers  on  a 


112  PEN    TO    SlLVERSHEUT 

trailer,  are  in  constant  use  for  night  scenes  on  location,  by 
this  studio. 

The  various  kinds  of  lamps  in  use  in  this  system,  include 
Klieglights,  spotlights,  Sun  Arcs  and  big  General  Electric 
searchlights. 

The  prime,  flat,  illumination  of  the  setting,  sufficient  for 
straight  photographic  purposes,  is  provided  by  a  number  of 
Klieglights,  which  are  diffused  with  ribbed  glass  or  semi- 
opaque  curtains  to  break  up  the  sharp  beams  and  spread  the 
light  evenly  over  the  area  to  be  illuminated. 

The  spotlight,  which  is  a,  small  light  with  a  single  carbon 
arc  and  a  condenser  or  bull's-eye,  serves  a  number  of  important 
purposes.  Some  of  these  are  placed  up  on  top  of  the  wall  of 
the  set  and  focussed  on  the  heads  of  the  principals,  causing 
a  sort  of  halo  about  their  heads  and  features.  This  halo  is 
practically  invisible  to  the  eye,  but  possesses  a  tremendous 
actinic  or  photographic  value.  In  the  eye  of  the  camera,  this 
additional  lighting  causes  the  character  to  stand  out  from  the 
background  and  makes  the  photography  more  realistic.  With- 
out this  lighting,  the  perspective  would  not  be  clearly  enough 
defined  and  the  figures  would  not  be  nearly  so  pronounced. 
This  light  is  so  regulated  that  it  is  not  too  strong,  for  if  it 
throws  too  powerful  a  beam,  it  will  form  a  visible  halo  about 
the  head  and  face  of  the  player,  which  is  a  very  unsatisfactory 
effect,  causing  hilation. 

The  spotlight  also  serves  the  very  important  purpose  of 
casting  the  invisible  mantle  over  some  of  the  photographic 
defects  of  some  players,  such  as  deep  wrinkles,  double  chins, 
sagging  or  hollow  cheeks  and  too  deeply  sunken  eye  sockets. 
These  defects  loom  up  much  worse  than  they  really  are  when 
the  general  illumination  causes  them  to  cast  shadows,  or  they 
are  not  properly  lighted.  By  the  use  of  spotlights,  placed  either 
on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  player,  or  one  at  each  side,  or  in  the 
most  advantageous  angle  to  light  up  the  shadow  in  question, 
such  defects  can  be  largely  counteracted. 

The  Sun  Arc,  which  is  a  larger  and  much  more  powerful 
light  than  the  Klieg  or  the  spot,  is  used  to  illuminate  large 
settings  or  for  special  sunlight  or  moonlight  effects  through 
windows  or  doors.  For  the  latter  purpose,  this  light  must 


LIGHTINGS  AND  EFFECTS  113 

be  that  much  stronger  than  the  general  illumination  provided 
by  the  Kliegs,  that  its  beam  will  penetrate  the  flat  quality  of 
those  lights,  thus  providing  sunlight  or  moonlight  effects. 

The  two  big  General  Electric  searchlights  used  at  this  studio 
— the  most  powerful  ever  conceived  for  studio  illumination 
and  the  only  two  in  existence,  are  used  for  illuminating  still 
larger  settings  and  also  for  special  sunlight  effects.  These  are 
so  powerful  that  for  general  illumination  they  are  usually 
focussed  on  a  reflecting  medium,  which  in  turn  throws  the 
diffused  rays  down  on  to  the  setting,  giving  an  even  spread  of 
light  and  avoiding  the  necessity  of  any  of  the  players  having 
to  look  into  the  strong  beams  with  their  eyes,  which  would 
result  in  injurious  effects  to  the  optics. 

In  all  of  these  lamps,  the  carbon  arc  is  the  medium  of  light. 
This  is  formed  by  two  carbons,  the  points  of  which  are  a 
small  space  apart — one  containing  a  positive  and  the  other  a 
negative  current.  There  is  a  strong  spark  between  the  two 
points,  causing  a  brilliant  light  arc,  strong  in  actinic  value. 

The  carbon  arc  system  is  also  employed  in  many  illumina- 
tion devices  and  properties.  The  cheerful  fire  which  burns  in 
the  grate  in  a  motion  picture  setting  would  be  dull  and  color- 
less when  photographed,  were  it  not  for  the  baby  carbon  arcs 
concealed  behind  the  logs,  which  illumine  the  natural  flames. 
The  flames  alone  would  photograph  very  dark  and  colorless 
without  the  aid  of  this  artificial  illumination. 

A  close-up  inspection  of  the  big  stand  lamp  in  the  library 
or  drawing  room  setting  discloses  not  an  incandescent  lamp 
bulb  but  a  baby  carbon  arc  underneath  the  shade.  If  the 
room  were  really  dark,  the  incandescent  lamp  would  cast  suffi- 
cient light  to  register  photographically,  but  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  a  setting  is  already  lighted  up  from  the  outside  by 
Klieglights  and  the  light  from  the  lamp  must  be  stronger  than 
the  flat  tone  of  light  already  flooding  the  room,  before  it  will 
register.  In  a  lighted  setting,  an  incandescent  lamp  would 
photograph  black  instead  of  light,  because  its  lighting  capacity 
is  less  than  the  value  of  the  light  which  pervades  the 
entire  room. 

The  old  fashioned  oil  lamp  which  is  seen  in  settings  rep- 
resenting country  homes,  the  westerner's  shack  or  in  any 


114  PEN  TO 

home  during  that  period  of  time  before  the  invention  of  the 
incandescent  light,  is  also  fitted  up  with  a  baby  carbon  arc, 
replacing  the  yellow  oil  flame  from  the  wick,  which  flame 
would  have  no  photographic  value  whatsoever. 

In  the  same  way,  the  burglar's  flashlight  and  all  other 
properties  are  equipped.  When  the  screen  actor  is  seen  to 
light  his  cigarette  in  a  dark  room,  giving  a  very  unique  lighting 
effect  as  the  glow  of  light  illumines  his  face,  it  is  not  the 
match  he  has  struck,  but  the  tiny  carbon  arc,  concealed  in  his 
palm  and  connected  by  a  wire  running  down  his  sleeve,  which 
cause  that  glow. 

The  studio  electrical  operator,  like  the  cameraman,  must 
be  an  artist  as  well  as  an  engineer  or  mechanic.  After  he  has 
technically  mastered  his  profession,  he  must  then  learn  the  art 
of  illumination — one  of  the  major  arts  in  film  production 
because  of  its  relationship  to  good  photography. 

It  has  perhaps  occurred  to  very  few  theatre  patrons  that  a 
studio  electrician  must  first  make  a  study  of  the  types  he  is  to 
light  before  knowing  just  what  kind  and  how  many  lights  he  is 
to  use  and  to  what  degree  they  are  to  be  regulated.  Hardly 
any  two  stars  require  exactly  the  same  quality  of  lighting. 
A  blonde  does  not  require  nearly  so  intense  a  beam  as  a 
brunette  and  a  lighting  arrangement  which  would  exactly  suit 
one  would  be  very  poor  illumination  for  the  other.  Lightings 
are  also  regulated  by  the  quality  of  make-up  used.  A  brunette 
with  a  dark  make-up  must  have  strong  light  values  to  bring 
out  her  complexion  and  her  hair.  A  blonde  must  have  a 
weaker  lighting  because  the  strong  light  would  "burn  up"  her 
complexion,  or  render  it  very  pale  and  colorless.  It  will  be 
seen  from  this  that  when  the  electrician  has  a  scene  in  which  a 
blonde  and  brunette  work  together,  he  has  a  problem  in 
illumination  which  taxes  his  knowledge  of  the  artistic  side  of 
lighting.  The  lights  must  be  so  regulated  that  they  are  neither 
too  weak  for  the  one  nor  too  strong  for  the  other.  A  happy 
medium  must  be  struck.  Another  problem  often  encountered 
is  the  actress  with  fair  skin  and  very  black  hair.  A  lighting 
arrangement  strong  enough  for  her  hair  is  too  strong  for  her 
complexion  and  a  light  properly  suited  to  her  complexion  is 
not  strong  enough  to  bring  out  her  hair.  These  problems 


LIGHTINGS  AND  EFFECTS  115 

have  to  be  carefully  worked  out.  The  electrician,  like  the 
director,  the  cameraman,  the  scenario  writer  and  other  mem- 
bers of  a  production  staff,  must  exercise  his  own  individuality 
in  his  work  and  possess  a  complete  understanding  of  the  artistic 
as  well  as  the  mechanical  phase  of  his  profession. 

Exemplary  of  present  day  efficiency  and  perfection  in  elec- 
trical illumination,  let  us  review  some  of  the  big  electrical 
accomplishments  in  connection  with  latter-day  film  production. 

One  of  the  most  notable  lighting  achievements  ever  con- 
summated was  the  night  lighting  of  a  big  Siamese  exterior 
setting  which  was  built  at  Balboa,  California,  for  a  spectacular 
sequence  in  a  photoplay.  The  lighting  equipment  required  to 
properly  illuminate  this  set,  if  strung  out  in  a  continuous  line 
would  cover  a  quarter  of  a  mile  linear  space.  A  high  tension 
transmission  line  carrying  current  for  a  number  of  miles  from 
a  power  station  to  the  site,  was  set  up.  Arrangements  were 
made  with  the  power  company  to  set  up  a  special  transformer. 
The  shots  were  so  long — that  is,  the  distance  from  the  camera 
to  the  scene,  so  far — in  many  instances,  that  the  director  had 
to  use  telephone  equipment  with  amplifiers  in  giving  orders  to 
his  players. 

Another  big  project  was  the  lighting  of  a  setting  represent- 
ing a  complete  main  street  in  a  mining  town.  To  properly 
light  the  town  necessitated  five  big  portable  power  plants.  All 
the  big  Sun  Arcs  and  General  Electric  searchlights  in  the  studio 
and  a  large  battery  of  Klieglights  were  transported  to  the 
setting  and  pressed  into  service.  A  carbon  arc  light  was 
placed  behind  each  window  and  door  in  the  town  to  show 
signs  of  night  life  and  activity. 

Constant  improvements  and  devices  are  being  introduced 
in  the  studios,  marking  the  advance  in  the  motion  picture 
illumination  art.  Skilled  studio  illuminating  engineers  devote 
much  time  to  research  and  experiments.  Within  a  few 
months,  several  such  developments  and  improvements  have 
been  made  and  put  into  practical  use,  resulting  in  better  effects 
and  advancing  the  art  to  a  higher  plane.  A  few  of  such 
improvements  and  innovations,  noted  in  our  model  studio, 
heretofore  referred  to,  are  herewith  presented: 

A  special  shutter,  designed  and  made  in  the  studio  shop 


116  PEN   TO    SlLVERSHEET 

built  to  fit  all  kinds  of  lamps,  by  means  of  which  the  light  may 
be  dimmed  or  brightened  at  will.  The  device  consists  of  a 
number  of  vanes,  controlled  by  one  lever  and  makes  it  unneces- 
sary to  cut  down  the  current  when  a  dimmer  light  value  is 
wanted.  Such  cutting  down  of  the  current  has  always  been 
very  unsatisfactory  because  it  has  always  resulted  in  a  flicker- 
ing and  jumping  of  the  lights  and  consequent  faulty  photog- 
raphy. The  shadows  from  the  vanes  are  absorbed  by  diffusing 
curtains  in  front  of  the  light. 

The  removal  of  the  switchboxes  from  the  spotlight  stand- 
ards or  supporting  stems  and  the  replacing  of  those  boxes  on 
the  head  of  the  spotlight.  This  makes  it  possible  for  the  elec- 
trician who  sits  up  on  top  of  the  wall  of  a  set  with  a  spotlight, 
to  turn  the  light  off  and  on  by  the  switch,  whereas  before,  it 
was  necessary  to  have  another  man  down  below  to  turn  the 
light  off  because  the  switch  was  down  below  on  the  standard. 

The  lighting  of  colorful  props,  such  as  a  vase  of  roses  or 
a  silk  plaque  or  tapestry  on  the  wall  of  a  set.  Under  ordinary 
illumination,  the  vase  of  roses  is  just  a  mere  prop,  colorless, 
devoid  of  any  special  beauty  or  significance.  But  now,  it  has 
been  discovered,  that  to  put  a  spotlight  on  that  vase  of  roses 
is  to  make  it  play  a  real,  beautiful,  artistic  part  in  the  picture. 
It  is  a  colorful,  living,  attractive  part  of  the  scene  which  flashes 
on  the  silversheet. 

A  new  scheme  for  exterior  door  and  window  lighting  in  a 
big  night  scene.  The  carbon  arc  lights  generally  placed  behind 
the  doors  and  windows  of  buildings  in  such  a  large  exterior 
can  now  be  dispensed  with.  The  windows  can  be  coated  with 
an  aluminum  or  silver  paint  which  acts  as  a  reflecting  surface 
for  the  light  beams  cast  from  the  outside  by  the  big  search- 
lights and  gives  the  appearance  of  light  in  the  windows,  with- 
out the  use  of  interior  lamps.  The  part  of  the  window  sup- 
posedly covered  by  curtains,  shutting  out  the  light  from  within, 
is  painted  brown,  which  gives  the  effect  of  partly  drawn 
curtains. 

The  old  system  of  taking  big  night  scenes  in  the  daytime 
and  tinting  the  film  blue  to  fool  the  public  into  believing  the 
scenes  to  have  been  taken  at  night,  has  been  practically 
abandoned  at  this  studio.  All  night  scenes,  no  matter  how 


LIGHTINGS  AND  EFFECTS  117 

extensive  the  scope  of  operations,  as  in  the  case  of  the  two 
projects  referred  to,  are  now  made  at  night  and  the  proper 
atmosphere  is  thus  secured.  But  this  means  many  tremendous 
tasks  for  the  illuminating  engineering  department. 

One  of  the  most  valuable  innovations  introduced  recently 
at  this  studio  and  one  which  marks  a  new  advanced  step  in 
motion  picture  illumination,  is  a  large  overhead  half -spherical 
dome  lamp  by  means  of  which  indirect  lighting  from  carbon 
arcs  is  supplied  the  scene  below.  The  carbon  arcs,  hidden  from 
view  below  by  means  of  a  trough  in  which  they  lie,  are  reflected 
by  the  upper  concave  surface  of  the  dome  to  the  region  below. 
This  cuts  out  all  direct  rays  and  gives  an  even,  perfectly  dis- 
tributed light,  which  does  not  cast  shadows.  It  is  only  direct 
rays  which  cast  shadows.  Then,  for  the  special  effects  desired, 
spotlights  can  be  used. 

This  indirect  lighting  or  diffused  illumination  is  the  nearest 
approach  to  perfect  natural  light,  taking  as  a  basis  for  such 
perfect  natural  light,  a  north  sky  at  noon  on  a  cloudy  day. 
This  is  known  as  one  hundred  per  cent  or  perfect  illumination, 
free  from  shadow.  Draughtsmen  and  architects  always  work 
on  their  plans  and  drawings  from  light  from  a  north  sky 
because  of  the  smooth,  clear  value  of  this  light,  which  casts  no 
shadows  from  their  pencils,  scales  and  other  mechanical  instru- 
ments. Indirect  light,  such  as  emanates  from  the  lamp  above 
described,  does  away  with  ugly  shadows  caused  on  the  face  by 
the  features  of  the  players,  such  as  noses,  eye  sockets,  protrud- 
ing eyebrows,  neck  lines,  double  chins,  etc. 

Another  new  lighting  device,  conceived  and  made  up  at 
the  studio,  is  a  long  floor  light,  also  an  indirect  light  device, 
which  is  similar  to  and  serves  the  same  purpose  as  the  stage 
footlights.  The  light  is  reflected  up  into  the  faces  of  the  play- 
ers from  below  and  also  serves  to  prevent  facial  shadows  from 
the  causes  just  mentioned.  The  lamp  is  a  long  tin  trough 
fitted  with  a  series  of  carbon  arcs  at  equal  distances  apart. 

Some  facts  and  figures  in  regard  to  the  cost  and  material 
involved  in  the  new  wiring  of  this  particular  studio  and  the 
improvements  noted,  might  be  of  interest.  Something  like  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars  was  invested  in  putting  in  the  new 
system  of  wiring  and  making  the  improvements.  Four  car- 


118  PEN  TO   SlLVERSHEET 

loads  of  five  hundred  circular  mill  copper  wire  cable  were 
used  in  the  new  wiring  and  several  carloads  of  three-inch 
galvanized  iron  conduit.  The  work  covered  about  a  year. 
The  new  wiring  system  and  plant  equipment,  increased  the 
current  capacity  of  the  plant  for  illumination,  by  five  hundred 
per  cent  or  five  fold. 

With  the  present  high  standard  of  equipment  and  organiza- 
tion in  the  electrical  illumination  department,  the  highest  effi- 
ciency is  possible.  The  department  is  sometimes  given  only 
eight  or  ten  hours'  notice  to  prepare  and  completely  equip  a 
large  setting  with  artificial  lighting  facilities  sufficient  in  power 
to  light  a  small  sized  town.  Illustrative  of  the  magnitude  of 
the  work  of  preparing  and  lighting  such  a  setting  is  the  fact 
that  the  salaries  of  the  men  employed  to  operate  the  lights  on 
one  particular  set,  for  three  or  four  hours'  work,  amounted 
to  between  four  and  five  hundred  dollars. 

Many  problems  have  to  be  met  and  successfully  overcome 
by  the  illuminating  department.  A  single  instance  is  when  a 
certain  director  went  to  Jamestown,  a  small  town  in  Northern 
California,  to  film  village  scenes.  A  transmission  line  was  built 
from  the  power  plant  and  equipment  was  shipped  up  for 
lighting  the  night  scenes.  It  was  found,  however,  that  the 
local  moving  picture  theatre  consumed  so  much  current  that 
not  enough  was  left  to  supply  all  the  lights  to  light  the  setting. 
The  electrician  suggested  that  the  director  buy  out  the  moving 
picture  house  for  four  nights.  This  was  done.  By  keeping  the 
local  house  dark  during  that  time,  the  current  ordinarily  used 
for  the  theatre  projection  machines  was  left  intact,  which  made 
sufficient  voltage  for  the  proper  lighting  of  the  large  scene. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  FILM  LABORATORY 

HAT  is  the  next  step  in  the  treatment  of  motion  pic- 
ture film  after  it  passes  through  the  motion  picture 
camera,  with  an  exposed  record  of  the  scenes  filmed 
during  the  day? 

This  is  a  question  which  very  few  could  thoroughly 
answer,  because  the  laboratory,  the  last  great  depart- 
ment of  studio  production,  is  a  place  to  which  very  few  out- 
siders are  admitted.  The  average  studio  visitor  never  gets  a 
glimpse  into  this  complex  and  highly  interesting  department, 
but  it  shall  not  escape  us  in  our  journey  from  Pen  to  Silver- 
sheet. 

The  necessity  for  absolute  perfection  of  organization  and 
efficiency  in  the  various  phases  of  laboratory  work  can  be 
readily  realized  by  a  consideration  of  the  following  proposition : 

After  all  the  expense  and  work  and  genius  involved  in  the 
making  of  a  motion  picture,  the  only  thing  that  a  film  company 
has  to  sell  is  a  series  of  little  pictures  on  a  strip  of  film.  If 
the  laboratory  is  inefficient  in  its  final  treatment  of  this  film, 
then  the  work  of  all  other  departments  is  injured  and  if  the 
laboratory  workers,  through  accident  or  mistake  should  destroy 
the  precious  celluloid,  then  all  the  efforts  of  all  other  depart- 
ments, all  the  time  and  money  involved,  have  been  for  naught 
and  nothing  remains  to  show  for  such  expense  of  time,  genius 
and  money. 

In  describing  the  modern  motion  picture  laboratory,  its 
operations,  the  various  processes  which  the  film  undergoes 
therein,  we  shall  take  the  laboratory  of  our  model  studio — 
the  Paramount  West  Coast  plant,  as  an  example.  This 
important  department  is  housed  in  a  large  concrete,  fire-proof 


120  PEN   TO   SlLVERSHEET 

building  consisting  of  many  rooms  and  branches  and  several 
vaults  in  which  the  film  is  stored.  It  is  operated  continuously, 
day  and  night,  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  the  year 
and  two  distinct  shifts  are  kept  constantly  employed. 

Before  we  proceed  further,  an  explanation  of  the  two  kinds 
of  film  used  in  motion  picture  photography  is  essential.  These 
two  types  are  negative  film  and  positive  film.  Negative  film 
is  the  kind  that  is  run  through  the  motion  picture  camera  and 
corresponds  to  the  photographer's  plate  or  the  kodak  film  in 
still  photography.  Positive  film  is  the  type  that  is  run  through 
the  projection  machine,  magnified  and  reflected  on  the  screen 
in  the  theatre,  and  corresponds  to  the  finished  paper  print  in 
still  photography,  except  that  in  this  case,  the  print  is  trans- 
parent, so  that  the  light  may  reflect  the  figures  thereon  onto 
the  screen,  in  magnified  form. 

The  negative,  after  being  exposed  by  the  cameraman, 
through  his  camera,  is  developed  in  the  laboratory  and  from 
this  finished  negative  the  positive  is  printed  by  being  placed 
in  direct  contact  with  the  negative  and  exposed  to  strong  light, 
and  afterwards  developed  and  fixed  in  chemical  solutions.  Any 
number  of  positive  prints  can  be  struck  from  this  basic  negative 
film,  which  is  the  only  record  of  the  picture  and  is  carefully 
guarded  and  preserved.  Two  negatives  are  made  of  every 
scene  and  one  fully  assembled  negative  is  shipped  away  for 
the  foreign  market,  the  other  being  retained  for  the  American 
market. 

The  average  output  of  this  laboratory  is  eight  hundred 
seventy-five  thousand  feet  of  positive  film  a  week  and  from 
fifteen  to  twenty-five  thousand  feet  of  negative  film  each  day. 
The  negative  film  is  sent  into  the  laboratory  by  the  cameraman 
at  intervals  during  the  day.  Every  time  he  has  used  up  a  four 
hundred  foot  roll  of  film  he  sends  it  in  to  the  laboratory  for 
development  and  printing  and  at  the  end  of  the  day's  work,  the 
directors,  cameramen  and  players  assemble  in  the  projection 
room  in  a  corner  of  the  building,  one  unit  at  a  time,  and  look 
at  a  sample  positive  print  of  the  day's  takes.  The  negative,  if 
ok'd  by  the  director,  is  then  stored  in  a  vault  reserved  for 
that  particular  picture. 


THE  FILM  LABORATORY  121 

The  negative  rolls  may  be  identified  at  any  time  by  a  key 
plate,  containing  the  numbers  of  the  scenes,  the  number  of  the 
picture,  the  name  of  the  director  and  the  color  which  the  posi- 
tive is  to  be  tinted,  which  key  plate  is  photographed  on  to  the 
finish  of  each  scene  filmed  during  the  day.  After  the  sample 
positive  film  has  all  been  assembled  or  patched  together  in 
proper  scene  order  into  one  long  strip,  cut  down  to  footage 
and  is  in  its  final,  perfect  state,  the  negative  is  cut  in  like 
manner,  using  this  sample  print  as  a  guide  model.  Then,  from 
this  completed,  assembled  negative  strip,  the  many  positive 
prints  needed  for  general  distribution  throughout  the  country, 
are  struck. 

The  key  numbers  on  the  negative  are  also  printed  right  on 
to  each  roll  of  positive  film  in  the  earlier  stages  of  preparation 
and  identify  the  positive  and  enable  the  director  in  assembling 
the  various  short  scenes  into  one,  continuous,  coherent  strip, 
which  constitutes  the  picture. 

The  first  process  in  the  treatment  of  raw  film,  is  the  perfora- 
tion. Anyone  who  has  ever  seen  a  piece  of  film  has  noticed 
the  little  sprocket  holes  along  each  outer  edge  of  the  strip. 
These  sprocket  holes  are  necessary  to  hold  the  film  in  place  as 
it  runs  through  the  camera  and  later  through  the  projection 
machine.  The  raw  film  enters  the  laboratory  without  these 
perforations  and  is  run  through  a  very  delicate  and  intricate 
machine  which  makes  the  perforations.  This  machine  has  to 
be  very  exact  and  accurate  because  if  the  sprocket  holes  are 
not  absolutely  perfect  and  evenly  cut,  the  film  will  be  thrown 
out  of  frame  in  the  camera  and  projection  machine.  The 
most  skilled  tool  and  die  makers  in  the  country  are  engaged 
to  make  and  fit  the  tiny  punches  of  this  machine.  There  are 
four  holes  or  perforations  on  each  side  of  the  film  to  each  pic- 
ture and  sixteen  pictures  to  each  foot  of  film. 

The  positive  is  printed  from  the  negative  by  running  the 
exposed,  developed  negative  film,  in  contact  with  a  strip  of 
unexposed  positive  film,  through  a  printing  machine  which 
exposes  each  little  picture,  times  it  perfectly  and  sends  it  on 
through.  The  exposed  positive  is  then  taken  to  the  positive 
dark  room  and  wound  on  racks  of  two  hundred  feet  capacity. 


122  PEN  TO 

These  racks  with  the  film,  are  submerged  first  in  a  solution 
of  developer,  then  washed,  then  in  a  solution  of  hypo  or  fixing 
bath,  then  washed  again  for  a  half  hour  in  running  water. 
It  is  then  tinted  with  the  appropriate  color  called  for  on  the 
key  at  the  end  of  each  scene. 

These  tints  are  highly  effective  in  accentuating  effects. 
For  instance,  if  it  is  a  night  shot,  the  scene  is  tinted  dark  blue, 
if  a  late  afternoon  sunset  shot,  the  scene  is  tinted  amber,  if 
the  scene  shows  a  fire,  the  film  is  tinted  red.  This  enhances 
the  general  effect.  Several  other  colors  or  tints  are  used  for 
various  effects. 

After  tinting,  the  film  is  taken  into  the  drying  room  and 
wound  on  large  drying  drums.  These  are  then  revolved  until 
the  film  is  entirely  dry.  A  half  hour  is  the  average  time  con- 
sumed in  the  drying  process.  The  film  is  then  wound  into 
rolls  and  taken  into  the  assembling  room  where  it  is  assembled 
into  reels,  then  highly  polished.  After  this  it  is  projected  on  a 
tiny  screen  by  a  girl  operator,  who  inspects  the  magnified 
print  carefuly,  marking  all  flaws,  scratches,  cloudy  or  foggy 
pictures,  etc.  Many  of  these  flaws  would  not  be  observed  on 
the  film  itself,  but  as  magnified  on  the  projection  screen  they 
are  easily  detected.  Another  girl  operator  then  goes  over  the 
film,  takes  out  the  marked  scenes  and  substitutes  fresh  prints 
which  have  subsequently  been  struck  from  the  negative.  The 
film  is  then  repolished,  when  it  is  ready  to  be  packed  and 
shipped. 

Two  hours  is  the  average  time  consumed  to  put  a  roll  of 
film  through  the  laboratory  processes  and  deliver  it  to  the 
director  for  projection,  but  in  an  emergency,  the  film  can  be 
rushed  through  in  an  hour,  thanks  to  the  clock-work  organiza- 
tion of  the  department. 

An  average  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  and  girls  are 
employed  in  this  one  studio  department. 

Every  positive  print  for  every  completed  picture  is  turned 
out  in  this  laboratory.  This  means  that  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  feet  of  film  must  be  handled  on  each  picture  produced. 

This  complex  department  represents  an  investment  of  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  The  majority  of  the  men  and  girls 
employed  in  the  laboratory  are  trained  right  in  the  plant,  com- 


FILM  LABORATORY  123 

ing  in  as  raw  recruits.  Most  of  them,  however,  have  had  col- 
lege or  high  school  training  in  chemistry,  this  being  necessary 
as  laboratory  work  involves  an  intimate  working  knowledge 
of  several  important  chemical  processes  used  in  the  develop- 
ment and  printing  of  the  film. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
TITLING  AND  EDITING 

OTION  picture  sub-titles  serve  several  very  important 
purposes.  They  establish  the  time  and  locale  of  the 
story,  plant  the  theme,  introduce  the  characters, 
bridge  the  temporal  gaps  in  the  action  of  the  picture 
and  explain  certain  technicalities  in  the  story  which 
would  be  either  very  difficult  to  get  over  by  action 
or  would  require  an  undue  amount  of  film  footage. 

In  addition  to  playing  this  very  necessary  part  in  the  pic- 
ture, the  sub-titles  contribute  materially  to  the  entertainment, 
if  cleverly  and  properly  worded.  A  good  title,  now  and  then, 
is  a  dash  of  spice  to  the  picture  and  serves  to  break  the  pictorial 
sameness.  The  spoken  title  also  helps  to  establish  the  per- 
sonalities and  temperaments  of  the  characters,  if  worded  in  the 
proper  dialect  or  phraseology  typical  to  that  character  and 
expressing  his  sentiments  in  relation  to  the  story.  There  have 
been  numerous  instances,  especially  in  the  case  of  film  comedies, 
where  a  good  set  of  titles  have  been  known  to  strengthen 
materially  what  would  otherwise  have  been  a  very  poor 
picture. 

In  large  studios,  where  production  is  carried  on  on  a  big 
scale,  the  procedure  leading  up  to  the  titling  of  the  picture  is 
something  like  this : 

After  the  scenes  are  all  photographed  and  the  laboratory 
has  finished  a  complete  set  of  positive  prints  of  all  scenes,  as 
described  in  the  chapter  just  previous,  the  director  assembles 
the  scenes  into  a  continuous,  perfect  sequence  and  cuts  it 
down  by  trimming  out  superfluous  footage,  to  about  five  or 
six  reels,  providing  the  picture  is  to  consist  of  five  reels. 
The  scenario  writer's  guide  titles,  as  they  appeared  in  his 


TITLING  AND  EDITING  125 

script,  are  then  typed,  photographed  on  to  film  and  the  filmed 
titles  inserted  into  their  proper  places  in  the  assembled  picture. 
The  picture,  in  this  rough  state,  is  then  turned  over  to  the  title 
writers  and  editorial  department  for  a  complete  set  of  new 
improved  titles  and  the  final  editing  and  cutting  down  to 
footage. 

The  titles  in  an  average  five-reel  feature  will  require  any- 
where from  a  thousand  to  fifteen  hundred  feet  of  film.  This 
means  that  the  picture  proper  must  be  cut  down  to  about  thirty- 
five  hundred  feet  of  film.  Thus,  the  editorial  department  must 
do  a  great  deal  of  trimming  on  the  rough,  assembled  picture 
as  turned  over  to  it  by  the  director. 

The  method  in  vogue  in  titling  and  final  editing  of  the  pic- 
tures at  the  large  model  studio,  is  as  follows : 

The  title  and  editorial  crew  and  a  supervising  director,  view 
this  assembled  picture  in  the  projection  room  and  then  go  into 
conference  with  the  scenarist's  titles  as  a  guide  sheet.  In  writ- 
ing a  set  of  titles  for  the  picture,  the  title  writers  strive  for 
brevity  and  clarity,  perfect  grammatical  construction,  perfect 
English  and  in  the  case  of  spoken  titles— to  make  them  conform 
to  the  character  of  the  person  doing  the  speaking.  For 
instance,  if  a  French-Canadian  character  was  doing  the  speak- 
ing of  the  title,  they  would  have  him  talk  in  the  dialect 
peculiar  to  that  race,  or  if  the  character  were  an  underworld 
type,  he  would  use  the  appropriate  slang.  This  makes  his 
portrayal  stronger  and  more  impressive  upon  the  audience, 
stamping  his  character  in  their  minds. 

In  titling  comedies,  the  general  policy  is  that  every  title 
must  provoke  a  laugh,  even  though  it  be  purely  descriptive. 
This  carries  out  the  general  plan  of  the  picture.  If  the  action 
is  funny  and  the  titles  serious,  there  is  a  lack  of  harmony. 

An  effort  is  made  to  give  the  titles  literary  and  entertaining 
value  in  addition  to  making  them  serve  their  necessary  purpose 
in  the  picture. 

A  title  without  a  punch  is  more  or  less  a  hold-up  in  the 
action.  In  drama.,  the  titles  must  have  dramatic  strength  as 
well  as  serving  to  clarify  the  scene  in  the  minds  of  the 
spectators. 

In  the  title  conference,  the  picture  is  reviewed  from  the 


126  PEN    TO    SlLVERSHEET 

beginning  and  suggestions  are  made  by  the  title  writers. 
These  suggestions  are  discussed  pro  and  con  and  one  is 
decided  upon  for  each  -title.  After  a  complete  set  of  titles  have 
been  evolved,  these  are  typed,  photographed  and  inserted  into 
the  picture  in  lieu  of  the  scenario  writer's  original  titles.  In 
some  cases,  some  of  the  scenarist's  titles  are  retained,  if  they 
are  considered  better  than  any  of  the  new  suggestions.  All  of 
the  editorial  staff  try  to  work  with  the  spirit  of  co-operation, 
for  the  betterment  and  in  the  interest  of  the  picture. 

The  picture,  containing  this  new  set  of  titles,  which  are 
called  "temporary  titles"  or  "temps,"  is  again  reviewed  in  the 
projection  room  by  the  title  and  editorial  staff,  who  are  thus 
able  to  judge  them  on  the  screen  and  see  that  they  fit  perfectly 
with  the  action  or  dialogue.  Changes  are  then  often  made 
again  and  all  are  made  to  fit  perfectly.  For  instance,  if  a  char- 
acter speaks  on  the  screen  and  the  corresponding  spoken  title 
doesn't  seem  to  synchronize  exactly  with  his  gestures  and 
expressions,  the  title  is  changed  so  that  it  does.  This  is  a  sort 
of  literary  smoothing-out  process. 

All  superfluous  action  .and  slowing-down  action  is  trimmed 
from  the  picture  in  this  editorial  treatment. 

In  cutting-in  spoken  titles,  the  title  begins  right  where  the 
character  starts  to  speak  and  when  the  title  finishes  the  char- 
acter is  shown  just  completing  his  speech.  If  the  character 
were  allowed  to  speak  in  the  scene  and  the  title  were  then 
flashed  on,  that  would  be  a  repetition  of  action  and  speech 
and  would  slow  down  the  picture. 

After  the  temporary  titles  or  "temps"  are  all  perfected 
and  ok'd  by  the  supervising  director,  a  title  sheet  is  then 
turned  over  to  the  art  and  title  printing  department  for  illus- 
tration and  printing.  The  editorial  staff  get  up  ideas  for 
illustrations  and  the  title  artists  execute  them  on  black  title 
backgrounds.  The  title  is  then  printed  on  the  illustrated  board 
and  the  whole  is  then  photographed  to  proper  footage — allow- 
ing three  feet  of  film  to  every  five  words  of  title.  These 
permanent  titles  are  then  cut  into  the  sample  edited  picture  and 
after  it  is  reviewed  again  and  perhaps  more  minor  cuts  and 
changes  made,  it  is  then  in  its  perfect,  completed  state  and 


TITLING  AND  EDITING  127 

all  ready  to  be  turned  over  to  the  laboratory  for  negative 
cutting. 

In  devising  illustrations  for  title  backgrounds,  the  title 
writers  try  to  hit  upon  a  certain  illustrative  theme  or  series 
of  symbols  which  will  conform  to  the  idea  of  the  picture,  and 
carry  that  theme  all  the  way  through  the  picture  in  the  title 
illustrations.  For  instance,  in  a  picture  in  which  the  main 
motive  of  the  hero  was  matrimony,  cupids  were  the  principal 
illustrative  theme. 

Simplicity  in  illustration  is  of  prime  importance.  If  the 
background  is  too  involved  or  too  elaborate,  the  eye  is  dis- 
tracted from  the  printed  title  and  the  spectator  often  fails  to 
read  the  title,  taking  up  the  time  in  contemplating  the  illus- 
tration. 

In  the  average  five-reel  picture,  there  are  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  or  a  hundred  and  sixty  titles — or  about  thirty  to  a 
reel.  This,  of  course,  varies.  The  title  staff  generally  takes 
about  a  week  to  title  one  picture.  At  the  studio  in  question, 
there  are  four  title  writers,  working  in  crews  of  two  each. 

A  discussion  of  the  main  title  of  the  motion  picture  is  here 
apropos.  The  naming  or  titling  of  each  new  film  production 
is  one  of  the  most  important,  momentous  tasks  of  the  scenario 
department. 

We  can  all  remember,  how  as  school  children,  we  were 
instructed  by  the  teacher  to  write  our  compositions  before 
titling  them.  In  the  same  way,  a  motion  picture  is  titled  after 
it  is  produced,  or  after  it  is  well  under  way,  except  in  the 
case  of  pictures  based  on  noted  stories,  plays  or  novels,  and 
even  in  such  cases,  the  title  is  often  changed  for  the  picture. 

The  greatest  importance  of  a  title  lies,  perhaps,  in  its  box 
office  and  artistic  value.  It  is  true  that  a  good  picture  with 
a  poor  title  may  lose  much  of  the  success  which  it  should 
rightfully  achieve,  and  thus  lose  dollars  for  the  exhibitor.  It 
is  not  true  that  a  poor  picture  with  a  sensational,  powerful 
title,  will  be  altogether  successful.  The  title  might  draw  the 
crowds  on  the  first  showing,  but  the  ensuing  comment  on  the 
picture  will  destroy  the  glamour  of  the  title. 

A  good  main  title  must  allure  or  attract.  It  must  suggest. 
The  exhibitor  considers  the  "pulling  in"  or  attracting  power 


128  PEN  TO  SlLVERSHEET 

of  a  main  title  as  one  of  the  greatest  assets  of  the  picture, 
provided  the  picture  be  proportionately  good.  A  title  must 
have  this  box  office  value.  At  the  same  time,  the  artistic 
value  of  the  title  must  be  considered.  There  is  the  danger 
of  making  it  too  sensational,  or  out  of  harmony  with  the 
picture,  if  the  box  office  idea  is  too  strongly  carried  out. 

A  good  title  must  also  be  a  collection  of  words  that  are 
easily  remembered.  Then  if  persons  in  the  audience  enjoy  the 
picture,  they  can  go  home  and  tell  their  friends  about  it.  If 
they  cannot  recall  the  title,  however,  their  friends  will  not  be 
nearly  so  much  impressed  with  their  recital  of  the  merits  of  the 
picture  and  will  have  no  name  by  which  to  identify  it  in  their 
minds.  To  be  easily  remembered,  a  title  should  be,  if  possible, 
euphonious  in  sound,  easy  to  say  and  composed  of  as  few 
words  as  possible.  It  should  be  witty  or  catchy,  both  in  sound 
and  sentiment.  Simplicity  is  one  of  the  chief  requisities,  but  at 
the  same  time,  the  title,  though  short  and  simple,  should  not 
be  flat  and  meaningless.  Caution  is  exercised  to  strike  the 
happy  medium  between  these  two  extremes. 

A  main  title  should  have  advertising  or  publicity  value.  It 
should  afford  opportunity  for  pictorial  suggestions  and  illus- 
trations, so  that  it  may  be  advertised  in  an  impressive  manner 
for  and  by  the  exhibitor. 

A  main  title  must  not  tell  too  much.  It  must  suggest  the 
story  or  plot  or  theme  without  telling  it  conclusively.  That 
destroys  suspense.  It  must  merely  make  a  suggestion  which 
arouses  curiosity.  To  illustrate,  let  us  suppose  that  Miss 
Brown  marries,  at  the  very  finish  of  the  picture,  a  man  called 
Mr.  Smith.  "The  Romantic  Mrs.  Smith"  would  be  a  very 
poor  title  for  that  picture,  for  it  would  tell  the  audience  at  the 
start  of  the  picture  that  the  girl  is  going  to  marry  Smith,  thus 
killing  the  love  interest  and  romantic  suspense.  A  better 
title,  to  use  a  contrasting  illustration,  would  be,  "The  Romantic 
Miss  Brown."  This  would  imply  romance  without  telling  the 
audience  beyond  a  doubt  that  Miss  Brown  does  marry  Smith. 

Another  example  of  the  title  that  tells  too  much  is  the  good 
old  melodrama  title,  "She  Sinned  But  Was  Forgiven."  This 
lays  bare  the  entire  plot  of  the  story. 

Some  of  the  best  main  titles  which  ever  graced  the  silver- 


TITLING  AND  EDITING  129 

sheet  did  not  have  to  be  searched  for  or  pondered  over  at  all. 
Often  the  star  or  one  of  the  players  will  speak  a  line  extem- 
poraneously, during  a  scene  in  the  picture,  which  will  either 
serve  as  a  title  or  suggest  a  thought  from  which  an  excellent 
title  will  spring. 

It  might  be  of  interest  to  note  that  light  comedies  are  easier 
to  supply  with  main  titles  than  dramas.  In  the  drama,  there 
is  more  plot  to  suggest — the  title  must  be  strictly  dramatic. 
Wit  and  humor  go  hand  in  hand  and  it  is  therefore  easy  to  get 
a  good,  witty,  snappy  title  for  a  humorous  picture.  Also  there 
are  many  idiomatic  and  semi-slang  expressions  in  vogue  at 
this  period,  all  of  which  make  good  light  comedy  main  titles. 
Such  phrases  as  "Watch  Your  Step,"  "Sick  Abed,"  "The 
Poor  Boob,"  "Going  Some,"  "Nobody  Home,"  etc.,  have  been 
used  as  titles  for  stage  and  screen  light  comedy  productions. 

The  working  title  of  a  picture  is  only  a  temporary  make- 
shift by  which  it  may  be  identified  while  it  is  in  the  making 
and  until  a  permanent  title  is  evolved.  Sometimes  the  picture 
is  designated  merely  by  a  number  until  it  is  completed,  when  a 
main  title  is  chosen. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

STUDIO  EXPLOITATION 


ELL  the  world  about  it ! 

That  is  the  purpose  and  the  function  of  those  who 
are  concerned  with  the  important  work  of  exploi- 
tation of  motion  pictures. 

There  are  three  great  heads  or  subdivisions  under 
which  all  the  activities  of  the  film  industry  might  be 
segregated.  These  are  (1)  Production,  (2)  Exploitation  and 
(3)  Distribution.  A  fourth — Presentation — might  be  added, 
this  being  the  exhibition  of  the  picture  in  the  theatre  or  its 
presentation  to  the  film  public. 

It  is  with  the  second  great  branch  of  activity — exploitation 
— that  this  chapter  is  concerned. 

The  value  of  a  product  of  any  nature  whatsoever  is  gauged 
solely  by  the  interest  aroused  in  that  product  and  the  number 
of  consumers  who,  being  so  interested,  are  influenced  to  the 
state  where  they  desire  that  product.  Any  product,  whatever 
its  merit,  is  valueless  unless  it  can  be  marketed — valueless 
both  to  the  one  who  produces  it  and  the  one  for  whose  con- 
sumption it  is  intended. 

This,  in  brief,  is  the  why  and  wherefore  for  the  existence 
of  this  great  department  or  branch  of  the  motion  picture 
industry — Exploitation. 

Exploitation  is  a  general  term  and  in  this  instance  involves 
two  courses  of  procedure.  These  are  publicity  and  advertising. 
Publicity  is  a  recital  of  facts  presented  to  the  public  through 
printed  mediums  or  by  word  of  mouth,  as  news  and  because 
of  its  news  value  and  the  public  interest  in  the  subject,  com- 
mands space  in  newspapers,  magazines,  journals  or  other 
printed  matter,  without  charge  being  made  for  such  space. 


STUDIO  EXPLOITATION  131 

Advertising  is  space  in  such  printed  organs,  purchased  by  a 
concern  and  used  as  that  concern  shall  dictate,  in  exploiting 
its  product. 

The  avenues  of  publicity  and  advertising  for  motion  pic- 
tures, are  newspapers,  "fan"  or  motion  picture  magazines, 
technical  magazines,  periodicals,  etc.  In  these  avenues,  the 
publicity  is  directed  to  the  ultimate  consumer,  the  film 
patron.  Then  there  are  a  large  number  of  trade  journals,  pub- 
lished for  the  theatre  owner  or  exhibitor  and  containing  news 
of  interest  to  him  about  motion  pictures.  The  publicity  and 
advertising  placed  in  these  journals  is  generally  directed  to  the 
exhibitor  and  written  with  a  view  to  his  interest  in  the  product. 

In  every  film  studio,  there  is  an  institution  known  as  the 
publicity  department.  This  department  is  generally  well 
organized  and  is  considered  one  of  the  most  important  studio 
centres.  The  publicity  department  at  the  large  model  studio 
which  we  have  discussed  throughout  this  book,  is  composed 
of  a  director  of  publicity,  six  staff  writers,  one  publicity 
photographer,  two  stenographers  and  three  laboratory  experts 
and  occupies  a  suite  of  five  offices  and  a  completely  equipped 
laboratory  for  the  developing,  printing  and  enlarging  of  still 
photographs.  The  staff  men  are  all  trained  writers,  the 
majority  of  them  having  had  several  years  newspaper  or  maga- 
zine experience. 

The  interest  of  the  film  patron  is  aroused  by  telling  him, 
through  publicity ;  first,  of  the  forthcoming  picture,  its  interest- 
ing features,  its  story,  its  dramatic  high  lights,  incidents  and 
happenings  of  interest  during  its  production,  and  second,  by 
keeping  him  informed,  through  publicity  channels  mentioned 
above,  of  the  stars,  principals  and  leading  players — their  char- 
acteristics, personalities,  their  views  on  certain  subjects  and 
interesting  events  in  their  daily  lives,  both  professional  and 
domestic.  This  makes  the  name  and  personality  of  the  star 
familiar  to  the  theatre  patron  and  helps  to  make  them 
acquainted  and  bring  them  together  as  it  were,  and  the  better 
acquainted  a  patron  is  with  a  star,  the  more  interest  he  will 
evidence  in  his  work  in  the  pictures. 

The  matter  turned  out  by  the  publicity  department  consists 
of  the  following: 


132  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

(1)  Press  books,  or  pamphlets  describing  in  detail  each 
picture,  its  players  and  all  its  points  of  interest.     These  are 
intended  for  the  exhibitor,  who  gets  a  copy  when  he  rents 
the  film  and  is  thus  provided  with  all  necessary  information 
about  the  picture  and  with  stories  for  his  local  newspapers 
and  concrete  ideas  with  which  to  exploit  the  picture  in  his 
city.    The  press  book  also  contains  pictures  of  all  advertising 
cuts,  mats,  posters  and  other  advertising  accessories  which 
have  been  made  up  on  the  picture  and  are  obtainable  at  the 
exchange. 

(2)  Magazine  stories  about  the  stars,  principals  and  lead- 
ing players,  to  be  placed  in  what  are  known  as  fan  magazines, 
such  as  "Photoplay,"  "Picture-Ray,"  "Screenland,"  "Motion 
Picture,"    "Motion    Picture   Classic,"   "Filmplay,"    "Shadow- 
land,"  etc.    Larger  magazines  of  this  type  also  maintain  their 
own  correspondents  who  get  their  material  through  co-opera- 
tion   with    the   publicity    department    and    are   shown   every 
courtesy  by  that  department. 

(3)  Stories  about  various  technical  phases  of  film  produc- 
tion, such  as  electrical  illumination,  camera,  sculpture,  prop- 
erties, make-up,  scientific,  etc.,  intended  for  magazines  devoted 
to  these  various  arts  and  crafts. 

(4)  Full  page  newspaper  supplement  feature  stories  with 
picture  layouts.    Most  of  the  large  papers  also  have  their  own 
feature  writers  who  obtain  material  direct  through  the  pub- 
licity department. 

(5)  Short  news  stories  of  every  kind,  intended  for  news- 
papers, magazines,  exhibitors'  trade  journals  and  concerning 
activities  of  players,  officials,  etc.,  and  other  items  of  interest 
emanating  from  a  motion  picture  studio. 

(6)  Publicity  pictures  of  all  kinds,  showing  players  in 
informal  poses  about  the  studio  and  linking  up  with  the  picture 
in  which  they  are  appearing,  whenever  possible. 

(7)  Portraits  of  stars  and  players. 

(8)  Specially   posed   still  pictures   for  each   production, 
showing  principals  posed  to  illustrate  most  important  situa- 
tions of  story — these  to  be  used  for  lithographs,  advertising 
cuts  and  lobby  displays. 

This  publicity  material  is  forwarded  by  the  studio  depart- 


STUDIO  EXPLOITATION  133 

ment  to  a  central  or  home  office,  generally  in  New  York,  the 
executive  center  of  the  corporation,  where  it  is  prepared  in 
large  quantities  and  given  general  circulation  by  a  large  staff 
of  experts  trained  in  the  placing  and  distribution  of  such 
publicity.  In  this  office  the  advertising  on  all  current  pictures 
is  also  prepared  and  distributed,  the  lithographs,  cuts,  press 
books  and  other  accessories  are  prepared  and  sent  to  the 
various  exchanges  where  they  may  be  obtained  by  exhibitors. 
In  some  smaller,  independent  producing  units,  the  studio 
publicity  department  does  its  own  publicity  distribution. 


CHAPTER  XX 
DISTRIBUTION 


OW  that  our  picture  is  made,  advertised  and 
exploited  and  shipped,  we  arrive  at  the  last  stage 
through  which  it  must  pass  before  it  is  finally  flashed 
on  the  screen — the  distribution  and  sale  of  the  picture. 
For  the  distribution  of  motion  picture  films,  some 
very  elaborate  and  thorough  systems  have  been 
worked  out.  In  the  case  of  organized  distributing  companies, 
a  chain  of  exchanges  are  established  and  maintained.  There 
is  one  exchange  or  branch  distributing  center  in  each  big  key 
city  of  the  United  States  and  each  one  of  these  exchanges 
governs  a  certain  district  or  zone  of  sales  territory.  Where 
the  population  is  congested,  this  district  will  cover  perhaps 
only  a  few  square  miles,  but  in  other  sections  less  densely 
populated,  the  district  often  will  comprise  an  entire  state,  or 
sections  of  two  or  three  states.  The  Los  Angeles  exchange 
for  Paramount  Pictures,  for  instance,  is  the  central  sales  office 
for  Southern  California,  all  of  Arizona  and  a  part  of  New 
Mexico  and  Nevada,  while  in  New  York  there  are  three 
exchanges  for  the  one  state. 

As  a  representative  example  of  the  best  systems  of  distribu- 
tion, the  methods  in  vogue  at  this  exchange  will  be  described. 
There  is  one  official  at  the  head  of  the  entire  distribution 
system  in  the  home  office,  in  New  York,  known  as  the  general 
manager  of  distribution.  Then  there  are  district  managers 
over  each  of  several  districts,  each  of  which  comprises  several 
exchanges.  For  instance,  one  district  manager  has  jurisdiction 
over  the  Seattle,  Portland,  San  Francisco  and  Los  Angeles 
exchanges.  Over  each  exchange  there  is  a  manager. 

A  number  of  salesmen  work  out  of  each  exchange  and  con- 


DISTRIBUTION  135 

tract  with  exhibitors  for  showings  of  pictures.  Other  members 
of  the  personnel  of  an  exchange  are  the  booker,  the  auditor, 
the  accessories  salesman  and  the  exploitation  agent,  whose 
work  is  a  service  to  the  theatre  owner  or  exhibitor,  providing 
him  with  suggestions  for  advertising  and  exploiting  his  picture 
and  co-operating  with  him  in  every  way  in  the  execution  of 
such  exploitation  ideas. 

The  film,  encased  in  a  regulation  galvanized  iron  container, 
the  specifications  of  which  were  provided  for  in  a  ruling  of  the 
Interstate  Commerce  Commission,  is  sent  direct  from  the 
laboratory  at  the  studio,  following  final  inspection,  to  the 
exchange.  The  exchange  generally  receives  five  or  six  prints 
of  each  picture.  At  the  exchange,  the  film  is  re-inspected  and 
run  through  a  preparation  of  cocoa  butter  and  paraffin  to 
protect  the  emulsion  from  the  intense  heat  of  the  projection 
machine  and  prevent  possible  scratches  on  the  film. 

To  protect  the  exhibitor  showing  first-run  features,  the 
exchange  will  not  permit  a  second  showing  in  the  same  city,  of 
such  features,  until  periods  ranging  from  thirty  to  sixty  days 
from  the  date  of  showing,  have  elapsed.  Thus,  a  feature 
production  which  shows  at  Los  Angeles'  largest  theatre  on 
July  1st,  cannot  be  shown  again  in  the  city  of  Los  Angeles 
earlier  than  August  1st.  After  the  second  run  in  a  smaller 
downtown  theatre,  the  picture  can  be  booked  immediately  for 
suburban  houses  or  other  smaller  downtown  houses.  Two 
suburban  exhibitors  in  the  same  city  can  show  the  picture 
simultaneously,  provided  they  are  in  widely  separated  sections. 
In  small  towns,  one  brand  of  pictures  is  often  sold  to  only 
one  exhibitor,  thus  giving  him  the  exclusive  agency  for  that 
brand  of  product  in  his  particular  town. 

The  life  of  the  average  picture  often  runs  into  years,  as 
it  goes  down  the  line  from  the  larger  houses  to  the  smaller,  is 
booked  for  re-showings,  etc.  "The  Miracle  Man,"  one  of  the 
most  successful  pictures  ever  produced,  is  already  nearly  four 
years  old  and  is  still  going  strong. 

The  rental  price  of  a  picture  to  an  exhibitor  is  set  after 
a  careful  consideration  of  several  conditions.  These  are  the 
film  population  of  the  city,  the  merit  or  box  office  value  of  the 
picture,  the  class  of  the  theatre,  whether  a  first  run,  second  run, 


136  PEN    TO 

suburban  or  small  town  house,  etc.  The  first  run  theatre  in 
a  large  city,  with  a  good  attendance  is  charged  a  top  rental 
price,  while  for  the  same  picture,  the  rental  price  to  the  second 
run  exhibitor,  the  suburban  exhibitor,  the  small  town  exhibitor 
or  even  to  the  first-run  exhibitor  in  a  town  of  smaller  film 
population  or  poorer  attendance  record,  is  much  lower.  In 
this  matter,  all  the  facts  are  carefully  weighed  and  the  utmost 
spirit  of  fairness  to  the  exhibitor  is  maintained. 

All  the  business  of  the  exchange  is  conducted  on  a  strictly 
cash  basis.  The  exhibitor  generally  puts  up  a  rental  deposit  on 
contract  and  receives  the  picture  C.O.D.  When  the  picture  is 
sent  to  an  out-of-town  exhibitor,  the  responsibility  of  packing 
up  the  picture  and  sending  it  on  to  the  next  exhibitor  who 
has  contracted  for  it,  is  his. 

Films  are  usually  shipped  to  exhibitors  by  express  or 
parcels  post,  but  even  aeroplanes  have  sometimes  been  used 
in  case  of  rush  shipments. 

The  accessories  department  sends  to  the  exhibitor  his  stand- 
ing order  on  each  picture,  for  posters,  slides,  heralds  and 
advertising  cuts. 

The  salesmen  are  assigned  to  zones  which  comprise  the 
territory.  Ofttimes  one  salesman  will  be  assigned  to  a  zone 
that  is  four  or  five  hundred  miles  long,  in  which  case  he  covers 
his  territory  about  once  every  six  weeks,  making  short  jumps 
here  and  there  until  the  entire  zone  is  completed.  The  sales- 
man sells  as  many  productions  to  each  theatre  exhibitor  as 
possible  and  by  arranging  with  the  booker,  books  exact  play 
dates  on  a  number  of  attractions  at  the  time  the  contract  for 
service  is  signed. 

To  prevent  duplication  and  clashings  in  dates,  all  salesmen's 
contracts  are  subject  to  the  o.k.  of  the  manager  and  if  of  con- 
siderable size,  to  the  final  o.k.  of  the  parent  office. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THEATRE  PRESENTATION 

HE  presentation  of  the  motion  picture,  or  its  exhibi- 
tion in  the  theatre,  like  the  other  great  branches  of 
the  industry — production,  exploitation  and  distribu- 
tion— has  progressed  and  advanced  until  it  is  now  a 
great  and  distinct  art  and  the  greater  geniuses  of  that 
field  take  their  places  in  public  recognition  along  with 
the  great  producers,  players  and  leaders  in  other  phases  of  the 
film  industry. 

A  few  years  ago,  in  the  days  of  the  old  Nickelodeon  or 
nickel  admission  houses,  the  presentation  of  a  picture  was  a 
very  simple  and  crude  proceeding  and  consisted  merely  in 
running  the  one,  two  or  four  reels  of  film  through  the  projec- 
tion machine  and  projecting  it  on  to  a  screen.  The  only  other 
factors  in  the  presentation  consisted  in  a  few  advertising 
slides,  a  kinetoscopic  request  that  "Ladies  will  please  remove 
their  Hats,"  perhaps  followed  by  a  few  sharp  screen  admoni- 
tions to  some  stubborn  member  of  the  feminine  audience  who 
refused  to  abide  by  the  request ;  another  slide  announcing  the 
next  week's  bill  and  a  speiler  or  ballyhoo  man  outside  the 
theatre  who  proclaimed  in  typical  side-show  lingo  to  passers- 
by  the  merits  and  sensational  features  of  the  pictures  to  be  seen 
inside. 

A  little  later,  the  illustrated  song  feature  was  introduced, 
consisting  of  a  singer  who  sung  some  popular  ballad  from 
the  stage,  which  was  illustrated  by  appropriate  slides  and  then 
little  novelty  acts  in  connection  with  the  picture  began  to 
come  into  vogue. 

Today,  however,  the  wide-awake  exhibitor  must  be  an  able 
showman  and  must  plan  the  presentation  of  his  picture  with 


138  PEN  TO  SILVERSHEET 

the  same  pains  and  study  and  skill  that  a  stage  director  plans 
the  presentation  of  a  big  legitimate  production.  Many  of  these 
elaborate  presentations  are  written  up  by  trade  journals  to 
serve  as  guides  and  furnish  valuable  ideas  for  smaller  ex- 
hibitors who  later  receive  the  picture  for  exhibition. 

The  leading  film  showmen  of  today  often  plan  and  rehearse 
for  two  or  three  weeks  in  advance,  a  coming  program.  Their 
motto  is,  "Give  the  people  a  good  show,"  not  depending  too 
much  upon  the  picture  or  the  stars  in  the  picture.  If 
improperly  presented  and  not  accompanied  by  the  right  kind 
of  features,  the  best  picture  in  the  world  will  fail  to  make  the 
impression  it  deserves  and  satisfy  the  audience  of  today. 

The  principal  features  in  a  model  presentation  of  today 
are  the  music,  the  effects,  the  scenic  prologue  and  the  exploita- 
tion. Many  exhibitors  firmly  believe  that  fifty  per  cent  of  the 
picture  depends  upon  the  musical  accompaniment. 

With  the  arrival  of  the  film  in  the  theatre  from  the 
exchange,  the  up-to-date  exhibitor  takes  it  to  his  small,  private 
projection  room  in  the  theatre  and  there  projects  it,  with 
himself,  his  orchestra  leader,  a  stenographer  and  his  publicity 
department  as  the  audience.  During  this  private  showing, 
ideas  for  prologues  are  suggested  and  discussed,  the  publicity 
department  takes  note  of  all  advertising  possibilities  and  the 
orchestra  leader  determines  musical  selections  which  will  best 
accompany  the  photoplay,  scene  for  scene  or  sequence  for 
sequence,  dictating  to  his  stenographer  these  various  selections 
and  the  cues  in  the  picture  by  which  they  are  to  be  played. 

Thus,  the  orchestra  leader  must  have  a  broad  knowledge 
of  music  in  order  to  be  able  to  select  compositions  which  will 
best  synchronize  with  certain  scenes  as  they  are  flashed  on  the 
screen  at  the  rate  of  a  foot  a  second. 

Following  this  preview,  the  orchestra  leader  lays  out  a 
complete  musical  score  for  himself  and  orchestra,  synchronizes 
it  exactly  to  the  picture  and  quite  frequently  writes  a  little 
special  music  to  complete  the  score.  Synchronizing  music 
to  photoplay  action  is  perhaps  the  most  important  part  of  the 
photoplay  presentation  and  the  fact  that  unusual  skill  is 
required  of  an  orchestra  leader  in  this  work,  is  responsible  for 
the  presence  today  of  some  of  the  best  musicians  in  the  country 


THEATRE  PRESENTATION  139 

in  the  motion  picture  theatres  and  the  size  of  the  salaries  paid 
those  musicians  for  such  work. 

The  theatre  manager  studies  his  photoplay  for  a  scenic 
prologue  to  precede  the  actual  screening  of  the  photoplay  or  to 
be  interpolated  in  some  climax  during  the  screening.  A  most 
novel  example  of  this  was  provided  by  a  noted  Los  Angeles 
exhibitor,  during  his  presentation  of  a  certain  film  production 
some  time  ago.  At  the  most  critical  and  intensely  dramatic 
point  in  the  story,  the  picture  faded,  the  curtain  rose  quickly 
and  on  the  stage  was  an  exact  duplicate  of  the  setting,  char- 
acters and  effects  of  the  scene.  The  characters  enacted  the 
dramatic  action  and  when  the  climax  was  over,  the  stage 
darkened,  the  curtain  lowered  and  the  picture  went  on  from 
the  point  where  the  prologue  finished. 

An  example  of  an  effective  prologue  preceding  the  picture 
was  seen  when  this  same  exhibitor  showed  another  successful 
production  wherein  some  of  the  principal  scenes  were  enacted 
in  a  Parisian  cafe.  This  cafe  scene  was  exactly  reproduced 
on  the  theatre  stage,  characters  and  all,  and  some  of  the  action 
of  the  picture  and  many  additional  novelty  acts  were  staged, 
including  the  Apache  and  other  dance  novelties. 

In  other  presentations,  the  prologue  consists  of  a  suggestion 
of  the  theme  of  the  play,  in  a  setting  similar  to  the  one  seen 
in  the  picture,  with  operatic  and  other  musical  novelties  not 
necessarily  connected  with  the  story. 

It  is  not  unusual  that  the  prologue  for  a  photoplay  is  more 
expensive  than  the  rental  of  the  film  play  itself  and  often- 
times more  people  participate  in  the  prologue  than  in  the 
picture. 

In  laying  out  its  exploitation  campaign,  the  theatre 
publicity  department  considers  the  state  of  mind  of  prospec- 
tive patrons,  the  newspaper  conditions  in  the  city,  etc.  What 
might  appeal  to  an  audience  in  a  western  city  might  not  prove 
an  effective  exploitation  angle  in  the  east.  In  his  work  of 
exploitation,  the  publicity  man  is  aided  by  the  press  book,  a 
pamphlet  accompanying  the  picture,  containing  much  story 
and  advertising  matter  and  furnished  by  the  publicity  depart- 
ment of  the  studio,  through  the  exchange. 

The  exhibitor  governs  his  advertising  appropriation  by  the 


140 


PEN    TO   SlLVERSHEET 


calibre  of  the  attraction  and  the  quality  and  quantity  of  the 
conscientious  exhibitor's  advertising  is  generally  a  reflection 
of  his  enthusiasm  over  the  merits  of  the  picture.  A  big  picture 
demands  an  elaborate  presentation  and  exploitation  and  the 
exhibitor  must  impress  the  public  with  the  same  idea  which 
has  been  "sold"  to  him  by  the  distributor. 

Motion  picture  theatre  advertising  of  today  is  no  longer 
of  the  "circusy"  type  which  in  the  beginning  branded  the 
motion  picture  as  a  cheap  novelty.  "Stunt"  exploitation  is  still 
used  largely.  Whenever  the  exhibitor  sees  a  way,  •  by  means 
of  outdoor  stunts  or  tie-ups,  to  arouse  the  interest  of  the  public, 
he  generally  stages  such  stunts. 

From  the  exhibitor's  point  of  view,  the  ideal  picture  of  the 
future  is  a  good  story  by  a  well-known  author,  enacted  by  casts 
of  more  than  one  star  and  capable  supporting  players,  cleverly 
directed  by  a  real  genius.  The  better  class  of  showmen  of 
today  believe  that  the  time  is  passed  when  a  picture  is  a  success 
because  of  the  drawing  power  of  one  star,  regardless  of  story, 
or  of  story,  regardless  of  the  talent  enacting  it,  and  the  future 
success  and  elevation  of  the  screen  depends  upon  a  consistent 
policy  of  fewer  and  better  pictures  in  which  real  merit  and 
not  sensationalism  is  foremost.  Under  such  conditions,  a  good 
picture  should  run  two  or  three  or  more  weeks  instead  of  one, 
in  the  same  way  that  a  big  play  runs  several  weeks  at  a 
legitimate  house. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


MAY  2     135; 

TO.  08. 


•CT  10196? 

pflfc 

S67 


DEC  5 


W  27  .gg  14  DAY 


;96S 


Book  Slip-35m-9,'62(D2218s4)4280 


UCLA-College  Library 

PN  1994  R43p 


L  005  746  373  9 


Golleg 
Librar 


PN 
199^ 


066  558    6 


